A Thousand and One Dreams
by FlightofFancy87
Summary: COMPLETE: When Christine left Erik,things abruptly turned from bad to worse. Christine must persue a journey that will not only be the only safety for her, but maybe lead her back to her past in more ways than she can take.
1. One more loss

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from this section, they are based on the novel POTO. My ff is based from the film, using the actors portrayal, yet I am using Eriks background in Perisa. It will be explained in later chapters. Rated M for a reason! (again later chapters)**

**The story is set during the end scene when Erik lets Christine and Raoul go. Then story continuestwo months after. **

**->---**

"You tried my patience. Make your choice!"

He yanked at the noose mercilesly. Christine jumped in terror and was choked in complete shock. What could she do? Erik had now threatened to kill Raoul, and it was on her decision. The tears streamed down her face, as she gazed hurt and confused at him. Her angel had now set conditions for love. Although she had already made her mind up, she still trembled at the thought of never seeing daylight again. She would stay here with Erik and save Raoul of course, yet she was not going to let Erik win without reminding him of what he was doing. Her response came with so much passion; it drowned out every cry of anger around them, echoing in the dank darkness.

"Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you…you are not alone."

She pressed her tear sodden lips to his, and she felt him go rigid. She kissed him so softly, she could feel him shaking from his lips alone. She backed away and looked at his deformed face with hurt and disappointment threatening the very heart of Erik.

Her response had been a heart wrenching shock to him. He had longed for her touch for so long, yet had never expected an embrace, never mind a kiss. He tensed up so much he began to shake. He had dropped the rope obliviously, and just stood confused at the sudden rush of compassion from Christine. He could do nothing, and his heart broke as she pulled away and looked in his eyes. He saw such sorrow in them; he wanted to hang a noose around his own neck for hurting her so much. He gasped sobs, and melted once more as she moved to him again, more forcefully now, sliding her tongue into his mouth, sending the flames dancing in his head and body. He felt dizzy with shame and, strangely, complete and utter loneliness. He had never felt more alone as Christine pressed her body to his, feeling her warmth and drinking in her scent. He knew he could not punish her for his feelings.

He backed away from her, eyes raw from his pain filled tears. Thoughts raced through his mind as he tried to think of a million ways he could back out of situation. He almost fell more than once; seeing nothing but the darkness he was condemned to. Backing away blindly was the best thing he could think of at that moment.

"Take her...forget me...forget all of this.Leave me alone - forget all you've seen. Go now - don't let them find you! Take the boat - leave me here - go now, don't wait . . .  
Just take her and go - before it's too late . . .  
Go . . .

He turned to see Christine and Raoul embrace, and his heart finally broke in two.

"GO NOW! GO NOW AND LEAVE ME!"

He ran hopelessly into his bed chamber and threw himself to the ground. In his anguish, he knocked a few things to the ground, including his barrel organ. He picked it up in trembling fingers. Friend, he thought, pawing the Persian monkey lovingly, I shall return 'there' once more...I promise.

"Masquerade...Paper faces on parade, Masquerade... hide your face so the world will never find you..." He choked on his last word, it broke into a sob. He noticed a presence next to him...

Christine had saw Erik sprint to his bed chamber, and made to follow. Raoul grabbed her arm.

"Christine, he is letting us go! Don't push our luck, please Darling." He pleaded with her. She looked at him through swollen eyes. What she saw in his eyes were softness, kindness and love. It was a different experience to look into Erik's eyes, which were both murderous and adoring. She shook the memory away and lightly pushed Raoul from her.

"No Raoul...He deserves more than that." She sloshed her way through the water, ignoring Raoul's response.

"A murderer deserves nothing but hell."

Christine moved silently up to him as he sang his dieing tune. She almost fainted at the hurt she saw in his face. His deformed side twisted to an even more hideous form of pain and anguish. Her legs almost failed her as he looked at her and spoke in a broken voice.

"Christine...I love you."

He had no other way of saying it. He loved her more than his music, more than life itself. He lived to know she existed safely, and so lived with his monstrous self to watch over her. Now, he had lost her, and had lost the will to live. All he could do was admit to her finally what they had both known all along, and it hurt. It hurt so much to hear himself say it that he wished god would not forsake him in ending his life right then.

He saw a tear fall from her face as she pressed something into his trembling hands. He opened them to find a ring. _The_ ring which he had ripped from her neck at the Gala party, the engagement ring from Raoul to Christine. He looked at her in abandonment, but she was already backing away into the darkness. As he watched her leave with Raoul on the boat, his burning Opera falling around him, the chants of the mob after him, he ignored. All he saw was her, her face turned to him, disappearing from him forever. Her expression was unreadable, he wanted to run after her and hide her away again. But to his love, he could do no such thing but watch her leave...

Sleep had been denied from Christine for a long time now. Not that she couldn't get to sleep, it was the re-occurring nightmare that kept her waking in a cold sweat. The nightmare of watching from a boat, across a lake, to a man, who stood helpless on the other side, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not get her legs to move. She would scream and kick but nothing, not even a whimper would emerge, until she woke to find her actions had been performing outside of sleep. Maids would be stood over her, mopping her brow, trying to calm her down. The all gave frightened glimpses to each other as she would mutter and stutter after being awaked so abruptly. Her gabbling on about an angel...

It had been 2 months since the Opera Populaire had burnt to its foundations. Christine had been brought to the De Chagney residence in Paris after the ordeal by Raoul. They were not married yet, as Christine had been unwell and not in a fit state to talk of such things. She had been lethargic and yet unable to sleep, evidence of this showing in the dark circles cruelly shunning her face, and her red rimmed eyes, swollen with unreleased misery. She hardly talked, and when she did it was broken and weak. Raoul had tried to comfort her, and it had worked for a while, until night came and her memories with it. He had left her up to the best doctors in Paris to attend to her depression. He explained in as vague a detail he could manage to explain her depression, and yet still was met with confused and questioning looks.

Christine had given up on herself. She felt she had been raped by guilt, and her body was now punishing her heart and soul. She had fell prey to a deep aggressive depression, and nothing was going to pull her out of it. Her mind was at first a whirling vortex of agonising thoughts and regrets, but now it lay silent. Deadly silent. She didn't even think about responding to Raoul, when he clutched at her hands desperately in an attempt to literally drag her out of her state. Little could be done but wait. Wait for a mourning to end.

Raoul found himself turning surprisingly jealous. Christine had kissed Erik two months back to confirm she would stay with him to save Raoul, yet he had let them go. His jealously was a child of his shame and admiration for the once Phantom. He admired Erik's love for Christine, his devotion setting himself to doom, and he was ashamed that he had not pulled such an act of love out by being saved. Thus, his jealously plagued his mind as Christine sank lower into thought of the man she had left, not the man she had left with.

Raoul had pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind as he entered one bright morning to Christine's room. It was dark, the curtains were drawn, and Christine lay like a ghost in an armchair.

"Lotty, what are you doing, you should sleep in your bed!" He said alarmed. He moved the curtains to allow the prying sun enter, making Christine squirm and squint under it cool morning beams. He knelt beside her chair and stroked her arm lovingly. "How are you feeling this morning, my Lotty, better?" He smiled and moved her straggled hair from her face gently. She turned and gave him a tired smile.

"A little, Raoul, thank you." He lent over and kissed her on the forehead in new hope. He left for a moment, leaving Christine alone. She strained out of her chair, her long nightgown and robe shifting, feeling like weights on her weak form. She moved to the window, feeling like a wilted flower under the strong sun. He eyes throbbed under the suns happy glare, and she frowned. It was such a pretty sight of gardens and trees that promised new life and happiness with the spring that had arrived. She resented it for looking so, for she felt none of its new life appearing to her.

Christine had lied to Raoul. She felt worse than ever, but she was sick of putting Raoul through her ordeal, and decided to make an effort, as not to worry him so much. She sighed, pressing her head to the cool window panes, listening to the distant fountain in the gardens and letting a spring breeze lightly brush past her from a window Raoul had opened. She felt no better at all.

Raoul entered again, bringing with him breakfast for two on a large tray. A placed it on her dressing table and beckoned for her to come sit with him with a smile. She groaned inwardly. She had no intention of eating, her stomach felt like rot. Still, she sat with him, and tried a little of everything from the plates and drinks. She drank all of her tea, hinted with lemon, as she found it gently awakened her slightly.

"You are looking better." Raoul beamed. He brushed his fingers on her face. She flinched, as her skin was tingly to touch. She thought she had seen a glimmer of a frown on his face, yet it passed almost as quick as it had came. She smiled in defence and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you for this," she nodded to the tray of half eaten breakfast. "I wish I had the stomach to finish it.." He chuckled slightly, and she felt her heart flutter slightly. He was stunningly attractive when he laughed.

"Don't worry Little Lotty; you will soon get your strength back. And talking of feeling better, I've asked one of your maids to accompany you on a carriage ride around the Estate. I'm sure the fresh air will do you plenty of good." Christine gritted her teeth at the thought of making that much of an effort. Yet, she held her weak smile and nodded, much to the delight of Raoul who beamed at her.

"Good, well, it would be fitting. I have some visitors today that wish to discuss finances of the sort, I'm afraid it won't be at all of interest to you." He added before leaving.

Raoul had sent a maid to help Christine get dressed and ready for her morning trip. The estate was quite large, and she knew it would take a decent two hours to get from one side to the other. The carriage was made with a driver, a maid and a basket for a picnic. As two maids and Raoul helped Christine into the carriage, she flinched at every touch. Her illness was affecting her body as well as her mind, and she felt in no fit state for this outing at all. Yet she had made a promise to herself that she would make an effort on Raoul's behalf, and he was trying to help her in all his goodness. She leaned over the carriage side door to give Raoul a fleeting kiss before the driver pushed the horses onwards. She turned to watch Raoul as he stood watching her leave. He looked so proud and gentlemanly. In a horrible instant vision, her nightmare flashed before her eyes. The road turned to a lake, the carriage to a boat, day into night, and Raoul...into Erik. She let out a cry at his pain filled face, mourning her with his tears. She spun around in the carriage, her breathing turned sharp and full of sobs. The maid clung to Christine's shoulders terrified.

"Driver," she yelled. "Turn the carriage around, the Lady isn't to well."

"No!" Christine intervened through her tearful gasps, the vision vanishing as quickly as it had come. "No...Keep going. Its...it's the heat, iv not been accustom to it for some time." The maid frowned. It was morning, not yet 10 and the morning air was cool. It was not hot enough to get so worked up about. The maid remained silent in her seat, a heavy frown plaguing her forehead.

The trip had been pleasant, and Christine had enjoyed some of it, yet she had felt somewhat insecure when she would try and wander for a bit, while the driver and maid would gaze ever pressingly in her direction, waiting for her to fall or faint or cry. She would not give them that today, she demanded to herself. She moved through a grove of trees, pawing them tenderly. She so enjoyed the sunshine, her face felt fresher under its gaze, and she felt some weight lift from her. She began to hum slightly, and found herself humming Raoul and her own love song. The corners of her lips turned to a small smile, and she sat down in the grass. Why was she ignoring the man in front of her, a man that flung himself into danger for her? She had not confronted her depression yet, and she didn't feel ready to, yet questions still haunted her mind. What if _he_ had not let her go?

"Ma'am; its time to return!" The maid's voice sounded distant in Christine's mind. Now she was outside, she didn't really want to leave, yet the thought of returning to Raoul in higher spirits made her feel better.

The carriage rumbled and clattered over the gravel paths towards the De Chagney house. Christine recalled the first time he had brought her there. She was astounded by its beauty, windows glistening through a grey stone shell, a fine house standing proudly, like its owner. She had felt in awe and respect of Raoul. Christine laid her head back on the seat as they rattled forward, letting the air pass over her face soothingly. Yes, Raoul was right, the trip had made her feel better.

As she drank in the morning air, something stung her nose. She opened her eyes in surprise and sniffed again. It was the sharp, deadly, undeniable smell of smoke. As it dawned on her; she snapped her head upward to see the De Changey House aflame. The flames had penetrated the windows, shattering their former glory, and smoke rose high above the Estates tree tops. Christine let out a scream, as did the maid. The horse reared and came to a halt, tipping the carriage and its contents over. Christine fell hard, and she cried out in pain, trying desperately to scramble to her feet weakly. She began to half limp half run towards the building before arms grabbed her from behind. It was the driver.

"No Ma'am!" She twisted and screamed in his grip, but she was too weak to do anything of use by force, so she sunk her teeth into his arm. He cried out as she bolted from his grip towards the main entrance, the door untouched by the flames yet. She ran through the doors, ignoring the shouts of protest from behind her. She scanned the entrance parlour frantically, and tried to scream Raoul's name, it emerging like a shrill whisper. She cursed herself loudly in frustration, and ran into the Stairwell, where she stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes widened with terror, and she let out a blood curling scream, and again, and screamed in a state of hysteria. There, on the ash and timber filled staircase, was a mans body...Raoul's body.


	2. The End of Pleasent Dreams

Christine's knees gave out and she crumpled to the floor. Her eyes blurred terribly and her mind was screaming along with her throat. Raoul was sprawled head first down the first flight of stairs, like he had fallen up them. A dangerous pool of red was dripping disturbingly down from his head, which was hidden by his arms. Christine tried to drag herself towards him. Her breathing was ragged and horse. Her head banged violently, making her almost faint. She almost collapsed again, when the same strong arms yanked her roughly upright, and away from Raoul. She screamed his name and tried once more to get out of the drivers grasp.

"Please, Mademoiselle, please! It's not safe! We have to leave NOW!" His grip was now aggressive, and she cried in pain, but still turned to see her lover once more, fallen from life and grace, before being dragged back through the doors, and out the De Changey house. The driver hoisted her onto one of the carriage horses backs and jumped on after her. He reared the horse quickly around and they cantered away from the Estate. Christine heard a massive explosion as they speeded away, and turned to see the flames almost reaching the sky. Only a few minutes before, and she would have been there.

It was dusk, and the sun cast a dramatic shadow against the trees that they flew past. They had been joined by the maid, who was waiting for them further down the road, obviously coaxed to do so by the driver. Christine was now in a state of shock. They had ridden for over an hour now, and she had given up. The only thing that held her to the horse was the drivers arms under hers, holding the reigns. He had said nothing to her as she had screamed with tears cascading down her face, when she had threw up violently with shock, and now, as she hung lifeless in his arms. No thoughts were in her head now, just a silent acceptance of her utterly shattered life. Dusk turned to night, and still she thought nothing. Not the fire, not her lucky escape, not even the nightmarish picture of her fiancée, laying there, his hair mattered with blood, and the awkward position he lay in, as if trying to run away…

As the night turned colder, they arrived in a small town just outside Paris. Raoul had taken her there once; it was a nice little place, but now in the dark, seemed eerie and ghoulish. She felt she should belong here, feeling like a ghost herself, forever now to wander as a pain filled ghost. What else did she have now but memories?

Christine hardly noticed when the driver lifted her down off the horse, and passed her limp form to the maid to support. She didn't even notice when the driver strangely hit the horse, making it gallop away into the darkness, neighing in protest. They entered into a small building, the door only being small enough for one person to pass through at a time, and having to stoop low. It was a tiny cottage with 2 floors. It had a rickety interior, looking like something from a children's nursery rhyme. Christine noticed none of it.

The driver lit a fire as the maid helped her into a seat next to it. Christine could feel again and again the cold stab of loss and pain. She felt she had been driven mad by it, and felt no will to carry on existing. She cuddled her knees up to her face and wept quietly. The driver sat on the arm of the chair and put a supposed comforting hand on her head.

"I'm sorry mademoiselle, I truly am. Can I get you anything? Tea…." He stopped as she just ignored him, still sobbing, and shaking dangerously. He frowned, and knelt in front of her. He brought down her hands from her face in his strong grip. She looked awful. Her hair was in disarray, her face was pale and drawn, and her eyes rimmed red and bloodshot. Her lip quivered as he spoke.

"Ma'am, I understand your upset, but you have to take in now, that we are in danger."

Her eyes filled now with confusion. Danger? They had fled the house in time, what danger could there be now, what did it matter anyway? She had nothing left. Nothing.

Sensing her distance, the driver shook her slightly to make her focus.

"Mademoiselle," He raised his voice. "I have to explain, that fire, was no accident."

"What…." Her voice was barely a whisper. "An….acc...yes..yes it was. You saw! Raoul is dead..Raoul." She sobbed again. He only persisted.

"Ma'am, LISTEN!" He shouted almost impatiently. She jumped, tears falling silently and rapidly. "It was not an accident. That fire was caused by someone who was looking for something, or someone. "

"How...HOW DO YOU KNOW?" Christine suddenly screamed with new found anger. How did this man know anything, what was he talking about, someone? Someone wanted to hurt Raoul? "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? RAOUL IS DEAD, DEAD! AND WHAT YOU ARE…"

She was suddenly muffled by a hand over her mouth. He looked darkly at her.

"Think about it," He hissed, "It was a warm day, with no need for fires or candles. Why then was the fire upstairs, hmm? And why, why would a man in his right mind run towards a fire, _up the stairs?_" She was greeted by a fleeting memory of her husband sprawled disturbingly upward. Her heart turned, and she opened her mouth in protest

"But…may…maybe he was trying to…" She stopped. Her blood turned cold, and her heart to lead stone. If the fire had been no where near Raoul where she saw him…why then…

The driver recognised the grim dawning on her face. "And why then…" He said in a whisper. "Was he lying with a bullet wound in his head?"

She gasped in terror, as she began to shake more violently, clenching her small hands, making her knuckles turn white. Her eyes turned wide with fright, and her breathing became short and breathless. He was…killed? The driver held her hands grimly, and made to say something, before suddenly, outside in the black night, they heard the approaching sound of running horses…


	3. Silence tells More

Christine felt her heart stop. She gave the driver a terrified look, and she saw his eyes widen a little with his own panic. He swiftly jumped up, and put the fire out with a bucket of sand resting by the hearth. The maid, who had been making tea in the kitchen, quickly appeared and snuffed out the lit candles. They were now in complete darkness. Christine felt the chill of the night with the absence of the fire, and felt goose bumps raise on her arms.

The sound of the horses drew near, and came to a stop not so far away from the cottage where the three sat. Horses hooves pawed at the dirt path, as the recognisable crunching of shoes onto path sounded, as the riders dismounted. Christine tried desperately to control her breathing, as she was sure it was audible to all within a mile. It was heavy with despair and fright, yet the driver made no signal for her to quieten. He stood beside her chair, looking feverishly towards the window, drawn with curtains. They heard low, muttering voices, and from listening, there must have been about 5 men in total, or even more. Christine looked up to the driver, who she saw, slowly pulling something from his waistcoat pocket. She screwed her eyes to see in the darkness what it was. He was holding it funny, rather like a…

She heard him pull back the catch of the gun.

Christine jumped up in fright and whispered loudly.

"What are you doing!" She squeaked, her voice trembling. "Their not after us, are they? It's probably just a hunting…" He once again flung his hand to her mouth.

"You want us dead, Ma'am?" He whispered angrily. "I hardly doubt there would be a hunt out this late. And hunts take place in a game field, not a village."

Christine was beginning to like this driver character less and less. She pushed his hand away from her angrily, yet remained transfixed where she was. They stood listening, jumping at every slight noise. They could still hear the pants and neighs from the horses a little far off, yet the men had seemed to move on. A few more seconds of silence. A few minutes. A good 5 minutes past before Christine's heart began to return back to its normal pace. The drivers arm began to relax, his gun no longer outstretched in his grip. Christine let out a sigh of relief.

At that point Christine and the maid screamed as a huge bang came from a few buildings down. The noise was not huge, but it terrified those who had listened to the quietest and been suspicious. It was the sound of a door being kicked in. Suddenly, the noise came again, more closely this time. And again, this time followed by screams and crashing noises, like furniture being thrown about. Christine felt the maid run toward the door, to block it with something. Yet just as she threw her arms towards it, the door was flung completely from its hinges. The moonlight framed a large hulk like figure, shadowing menacingly in the door. The maid ran back toward them, yet suddenly froze as a loud crack sounded. The maids eyes, filled with terror and sadness, looked into Christine's for a brief moment. She looked down towards her chest, where blood began to consume her clothes, where the bullet had passed through and whizzed past Christine, just missing her. The young woman crumpled to the floor and Christine screamed in horror. The driver pushed her roughly to the side as the gun fired again in their direction. He moved his arm in a fluid action and sent a bullet flying towards the intruder. He fell with a loud roar of pain, crashing into the door frame below him. Shouts from the other men could be heard, and footsteps running toward their hiding place. The driver quickly grabbed Christine's arm and pulled her towards the door. He leaped over the dead man, dragging Christine sobbing behind him. As they moved through the door, another man had arrived, and took by surprise as the two came exploding past him. The driver whacked him with his arm, sending him to the floor out cold. The other men pulled out their guns and shot freely at them. The driver was a very fast runner, and took down 2 men by firing backward even in the darkness. Yet even he could not stop a good aim from one bullet, hitting Christine in the back of her calf. She fell with a loud scream, feeling the sharp searing pain angrily ripping at her leg. She felt like it had been completely blown off. The driver quickly heaved her onto his shoulder. As she slouched uncomfortably in his quick pace, she felt her vision fading, her brain misting over, and the shouts and terrified screams of the night faded into blackness…

----

It was cold that day in Paris, when two women and two men stepped back into the street. The older lady pulled her shawl tightly around her to protect from the nipping winds. The two men sported heavy, expensive fur coats, yet their faces held no happiness. All the faces present were grim. They stood on the entrance steps of the ruins of the Opera Populaire, caused by the great fire 2 months back. Its grandeur and beauty had been ripped from the inside out. The once great building now looked dead. Even a faint moan echoed from it when the wind would pass through it, crying for better days.

"Well," Said one of the men, followed by a sigh. "That's it then."

The other man nodded in grim silence. The young girl looked to the floor, her blonde locks blowing silently around her face, hiding a tear that fell down her cheek. The older woman put a comforting hand on her daughters shoulder.

"What are you planning to do now, Monsieur Firmin? Surely all is not lost." The lady spoke.

"No no, we can get back on our feet I suppose." He frowned at the sky. "All is not lost, no…" He looked at the younger girl as he spoke. "And what of you, Madame Giry? Are your accommodations suitable enough for you, we would be glad to help, if any is required?"

"Non, Monsieur; Merci. We have had a great deal of help from the Arts fund and the National Ballet Corps. We have found schools and residence for all our students, including ourselves." Madame Giry said, still comforting Meg. "We will be fine."

"Not so fine for our Opera." Meg piped up. "Why cant the save it Maman? Why leave it to ruin?"

"You heard them, Mon petit, it's beyond repair. It was damaged to the core." The two men glanced at each other as she said this.

"Yes, yes, the core." Andre huffed. "Seems the police never found the bastard who caused all this. Pity, I would have liked to see him hang from his own noose."

Madam Giry frowned. "It is not your place to hand out death warrants."

"No of course not, Madam, yet it seems 'He' was a very good judge. He obviously had the right to hand out warrants, and even the sentence to so many people in that Opera." He added darkly. Madame Giry continued to stare blankly into his eyes, an unreadable expression she held out for him. He eventually looked away.

"Well certainly, let's hope justice will catch those who deserve it." Firmin stepped in. "And now, we must leave you Madame. "Our carriage waits."

"Alright then," Said Andre, leaning in the shake hands with Madame Giry, and moving over to shake Meg's hand, and Firmin followed suit.

"May your future serve you both kindly." Firmin shouted back, as they climbed into their carriage waiting to take them from the Opera. Madame Giry lifted a hand of farewell, as the horses began to pull the two business men away. She turned to her daughter, to see her facing upwards to the Opera. She put an arm around her and sighed.

"It looks so sad now." Meg whispered up at it. "I wish you had never met him, Maman. I wish that he had been caught. Caught and made to pay for what he did to us all."

Madame Giry dropped her arm and put two hands on Meg's arms, spinning her round to face her, none to gently either.

"Now listen, Megan. The man you speak of had tragedies in his life that you or I will never know or understand. Hate turns to madness, Meg, don't let yourself fall victim to it too." She said, with a hint of plea in her voice.

Meg let another tear fall as she nodded in response to her mother's wise words. But that man had killed everything he moved by. Her friends, her home and her life. He deserved no forgiveness, what her mother had asked for.

At this moment, a man came running up the steps of the Opera House. He was tall and lanky, and his face was twisted from pain, probably from running to much as he clutched his sides, and doubled over. Madame Giry moved to the man, helping upright, and trying to calm him.

"What is wrong, Monsieur? Do you seek us?" The man nodded breathlessly. He moved his sky blue eyes over her and Meg, lingering a while on Meg, who blushed slightly. He stood straight now, breathing heavy.

"Madame Giry? You where a teacher at the Opera Populaire, non?" She nodded. "Then you must know Mademoiselle Daae." Madame Giry stiffed, yet Meg jumped in before her mother attempted to silence her.

"Yes! Yes! We know her! What wrong? Where is she?" The man looked darkly at them.

"Something horrible, Mademoiselle. Christine Daae is in terrible danger."


	4. Questions and Answers

Christine saw nothing but black, yet she felt the cold surround her like an uncomforting blanket. She tried to move, yet was stopped by a stabbing pain through her leg. She whimpered in pain, and lay still, panicking. The darkness felt strangely familiar, and for a moment, she was greeted by a memory of the smell of water, the unmistakable smell of a large lake, and the noise of a boat, moving gracefully, obeying to its master's directions. She felt a sense of loss. Loss that this memory would never be reality again and she sobbed. She stopped suddenly.

"_Christine………Christine….."_

What was that? She strained in the darkness to hear it again.

"_Christine…."_

Her name called softly, and she felt an urge to follow. The urge she knew so well from her time at the Opera. A time when a voice would call to her from the darkness and lead her to heaven, were her Angel lay waiting. She followed ever more, till the voice calling her name was as clear as if it where next to her.

Christine fluttered her eyes open. It was day, yet a very grey day. The wind was chilling, and she shuddered as reality came back to her. She had not died; the pain in her leg mocked that. She cried in pain as she tried to sit up on the dewy grass. Her vision was still blurry, yet she turned her head to see the driver sitting beside her, leaning against the tree she lay under. She looked down again to twist herself on her side, and the driver leaned over to help her. She finally lay in an uncomfortable position, propped sideways against the tree as not to lay on her leg. She frowned at the driver, who was surprisingly smirking.

"Glad to see you're awake." He casually pulled a cigarette and lighter from his large waistcoat, and lit it, taking long drag back. "And I'm glad one of us got some sleep."

Christine ignored him, and tried to ignore the growl in her stomach, moaning for breakfast. She carried on frowning at the driver. He was a middle aged man, with very dark, almost black, slicked back hair, now in disarray from last nights actions. He had quite a tanned complexion, yet sported blue eyes, framed with heavy eyebrows, contrasting with his darker features. Christine supposed he had Italian blood in him. His face seemed weathered from more woeful times, times that Christine caught a glimpse of last night, making her a little frightened of the man. After all, she had no idea who he really was, yet he had saved her more than twice. He looked at her, catching her stare. She turned away, angrily embarrassed with herself. He smiled as she busied herself with looking at her leg, which had been tightly bound by a white cloth, recognising the hem that lined it as one from a shirt. The driver must have ripped some of his shirt off to bind it.

"I took the bullet out when you were out." He chatted. "I had no bandages; you'll have to make do with that." Nodding his head towards the torn cloth.

"Thank you," She croaked. Her voice had gone dry and cracked from all her screaming from the past day. She pulled herself up slightly to a more sitting position, gritting her teeth at the pain that shot upwards.

"We will have to move out of here soon." He muttered, more quietly. He glanced around slightly, aware that they still were not safe in the woods. "We have to keep going. They won't stop searching. I only took out a few of them last night, they'll be back. We have to make our way to Marseille, then we…"

"STOP!" Christine shouted as loud as she could manage, sounding more like a forced bark. "Stop, please! I don't know what you are talking about! You talk about these _men_, who are trying to hunt us down? I've seen 2 people killed already, and my…my Raoul…."

Her voice broke into a fresh wave of sobs. The driver made to speak, yet she interrupted him, bring new confidence, as she had learnt to do before, when accepting the loss of another man... "I have lost my fiancée. Now I lie…lie in some wood with a stranger, with a bullet wound to my leg." Her voice was coming towards hysterics. "And now, you talk of Marseille! First, you tell me NOW. What the _hell_ is going on?" She spoke the last threat through gritted teeth. Her past politeness and manners and drained to nothing. She didn't care now how she spoke to anyone, or how they spoke. She just needed to know, from anyone with the truth, the justification for Raoul's death.

The driver took another drag of his cigarette, never taking his eyes off her. He knelt beside her.

"My name is Nasih. I have been watching you for quite a while now, watching for your safety. I have promised to protect you, Mademoiselle, no matter what happens."

Christine's head was swimming.

"Protect me from what?" She whispered. She was now frightened of the man that loomed over her. He was a strong man as she knew, and she was in a week position. He talked of watching over her, yet how could she trust him. Had he been spying on her?

"Protect you," He muttered into his cigarette "From these people who want to kill you."

She let fat tears roll down her cheeks as he said this, and she longed for a familiar presence.

"Who would want me killed?" She said through tears. He frowned.

"Ma'am, we really must move…"

She reached up and grabbed his arm tightly and looked darkly at him.

"WHO wants me killed?"

He sighed as he pulled at the arm Christine held his with, pulling her upright. She whimpered in shock of the pain that went torturing up her leg as she put pressure on the floor. He supported her with an arm with ease, respecting her dignity of not wanting to be carried. She still held a questioning glare at him as he began to walk with her slowly.

"Come, Ill tell you on the way."

---

As Christine and the driver, now Nasih, moved through the forest, he told her what she wanted, and all that he could.

"Mademoiselle, your father was Swedish born man, Monsieur Daae, was he not?" Christine nodded, a pain not from her wound appeared in her heart, remembering her father. How she would do anything for him to be here now. She hung her head.

"I doubt you are aware, but your father holds a large fortune. A very large fortune, a famous one at that. A fortune that would attract the attention of a lot of greedy bystanders."

Christine looked confused at him.

"But my father left nothing, he gave it away. I left for the ballet corps in Paris with Madame Giry. My father left me nothing."

"Ah, but he did, or so I've been told." He panted still half carrying Christine's form as she limped. "He left you a fortune big enough to rival that of a lord or baron." Her eyes widened, but still not convinced by the stranger. She went to reply, but he carried on. "The money was not meant for you to have till you were 19, when you would be old enough to deal with the money yourself. At the moment it lays in a dormant bank account in Paris, awaiting your 19th birthday, or your records, even your death records." Christine's blood turned cold and her heart to ice. A terrible fear now grabbed her, a fear for her life. Now she understood why people were after her. If she was proclaimed dead, then…

"No, that can't be right." She said her voice unnaturally high. "They would need more than… records to enter a bank account. They would need…"

"Account numbers, right. Or documents that you said you were handing over the money." He replied.

"Then that's what Ill do!" She cried. "They can have their money, I don't want it!"

"Its not that simple," He shook his head gravely. "You need to actually own the account, and that wont happen till it passes to you on your 19th birthday, so you cant give the money to no one, unless you are proclaimed dead, and then the money will pass to those who hold your documents, birth, death, any identity documents, and the account numbers. Or it will pass to the next person your father left it to in his will."

Christine had stumbled more than once during this explanation, and cried in pain several times. Yet she listened transfixed to the story. It seemed unreal, why would her father just leave this bank account open to anyone who could get her documents, and leave her in such danger? And how did this man know so much, know things about her family that she didn't? It angered her slightly, and she frowned as he carried on speaking.

"These people were not trying to kill you last night." He sighed. "They would have taken you and found out were your documents were first."

"But I don't know!" She cried.

"But they don't know that, and probably think you were lying anyway. They killed Raoul because in marriage, the fortune would pass to him directly. To get you is their next challenge."

"So what are we going to do?" She said despairingly. She wanted to just die anyway, and be away from this pain and suffering. Nothing seemed worth this.

"We are going to a man I think could help you." He looked at her through the corner of his eyes. "The man who ordered me to watch over you."

Christine now jerked her head to look at him, and her heart skipped dangerously.

"Who?" She whispered.

"I don't know his real name." The driver said, shifting her weight slightly. "But he's known to few as 'Hatef'. In Persian, it means voice from heaven, or Angel."


	5. The Road begins

Madame Giry and Meg jogged behind the stranger at a quick pace, trying to keep up with him. They both were terribly worried about what the man had said about Christine, yet every time they caught up with him an asked him questions, he would ignore, or be too out of breath to answer. Madame Giry was about to stop, when they came to a small town house in one of the narrow streets of Paris. It was about 3 stories high, and did not look very welcoming. Meg hesitated as the man opened tee door for them to enter.

"It's not safe, Madame." He said panicked, his eyes darting about. "We must talk in private. It's not safe to be overheard."

Madame Giry stepped forward. "How do we know we can trust you, Monsieur?" She crossed her arms. The man looked at her before fleetingly checking the coast was clear.

"You know about Christine." He whispered to her. Madame Giry remained stony faced, while Meg looked confused at her.

"What does he mean Mamon?" She pleaded. Madame Giry ignored her daughter, and remained staring at the stranger.

"You know," He continued even quieter, "Why Christine may be in danger. You can understand her father had more friends than you, Madame. We fear for her safety as much as you. Monsieur Giry knew he could trust us in times of danger."

"Then why didn't he tell me about you?" She demanded. The man hesitated, and Madame Giry narrowed her eyes. "You can tell us now, Monsieur were we can find Christine, and what you know, and then we are leaving." As she reached to pull Meg to her side, the stranger made a lunge for Meg, and pulled her violently inside the house. Madame Giry made to grab her, but the stranger pulled out a gun, pointing it subtly to her stomach.

"You will enter immediately." He muttered menacingly. "Before I decided your daughter's fate." He pulled the gun back and pointed it into Megs back, who whimpered under the mans grip around her neck. Madame Giry jumped at the mans words, and moved in silently as he backed into the house. He pushed them both in and locked the door behind him, still keeping the gun pointed in their direction.

"Up!" He demanded nodding to the rickety stairs in front of them. Meg clutched her mothers hand frantically, as Madame Giry moved up the stairs.

The came to a one room floor, with a large fireplace, and dusty arm chair facing the rotten window. There were a few men sat in one corner of the empty room, looking over menacingly, grinning with success. The stranger pushed them further into the attic like room with the gun to their backs. He moved them over to the window, were someone was sitting casually. The silence in the room was frightening, save the rain which had now begun to slash lightly against the window pane. A man turned his head in the chair to look at them. He was an older man, around 50, with a terribly bored expression on his face. He lifted the corners of his mouth slightly at Madame Giry, to expression a grin. She gasped slightly in anger.

"I could have guessed Monsieur Robard, that you were involved in this." She said loudly. Meg continued to hide behind her mothers back timidly, sobbing quietly.

The man got up and stretched to his full height, towering over Madame Giry, who never faltered.

"Then maybe you should have guessed instead of walking into my trap." He smirked. Madame Giry slapped his face hard. The man took the blow and lifted his head back to glare at her. He stood in silence before landing a blow to Madame Giry's face, sending her to the floor. Meg screamed, and was pulled back by the stranger who had led them there. Madame Giry clutched her face, yet remained in a defiant stare at the man. He paced around her.

"It wasn't very nice you know, behind bars." He said in a sing song voice. "It wasn't very nice of you to put me there, Madame."

"You deserve every minute of it, you bastard." She spat at his feet. "I hope you suffered." He picked her up roughly and slammed her into the wall, causing Meg to scream out loud, struggle and kick to try and get out of the mans grip to no avail. Monsieur Robard pressed her into the wall aggressively.

"How could you do that to me, Maria? You don't know what it did to me! My life was RUINNED!"

"You betrayed him, George!" She shouted back. "You betrayed us all, when he lay sick in his bed, you ran! Ran and never looked back until you realized there was more to be had! You're twisted, and you deserve to be in jail!"

Robard let her fall to the floor. He sighed and straightened his suit and pushed back his greying hair.

"He was a fool, Maria. And you were a fool to look after him all that time. He deserved none of our help, he did nothing for us. Why wouldn't I have taken the money?" He looked down at her, and when she didn't reply, he carried on. "When Monsieur Daae died, he left nothing for us, Marisa. After all we did! I think we deserve more than that!"

"His friendship was worth more than you ever where."

He laughed at this and went to help her up. She defiantly stood on her own, glaring at him. He smirked, and then turned his dull grey eyes to Meg. Madame Giry let panic enter her eyes, but being held back by another man, who was signalled by a wave of Robard's arm.

"Well, well, well." Robard paced over to Meg, who struggled under the old mans gaze. She looked terrified at him. "Why so scared, little beauty? You're not going to come to any harm! That is, as long as your mother does as she is told." He chuckled coldly. Madame Giry's blood turned cold, and she tried to speak, yet was muffled by her captor's hand.

"Such a pretty thing, aren't you?" He said, holding Megs fair chin softly. "You have you mother's pretty, fair skin and hair, yet your fathers eyes."

Meg felt a strange sensation when he mentioned her father. She knew her father had been dead since she was born, and her mother had never wanted to talk about him when she had asked. Did this man know about him?

"My father is dead..." She said quietly. The man's eyes widened in surprise, and he threw his head back and laughed.

"Very wise, Maria." Looking at Madame Giry's terror filled eyes. "Very, very wise! I don't blame you for not telling her!"

"Tell me what?" Meg whimpered.

"My dear," He said softly, with a hint of poison carefully concealed. "Don't you recognise your own father?"

- ---

Christine stopped dead in her painful pace. She began to breath heavy and stared into space. Could it be? Could it be that _he_ had sent someone to watch over her? Her once Angel, who now, by turn of evil fate, she would be reunited with? She began to shake.

"No, no, no!" She screamed. "No I refuse! I can't! Is there no other way! I can see him again, I can't!" She made to turn, not knowing were she would go, yet just away from the path that would lead her back to darkness. Nasih pulled her back roughly, causing pain to shoot through her body aggressively, in punishment. She sobbed as she fell, yet Nasih caught her, into a kind of embrace. He held her quietly to his chest for a moment, as she cried into his waistcoat. He stood awkwardly, waiting for her to subside the tears. He pushed her away gently.

"Christine, we must. I cannot vouch for your safety if I leave you in some hiding place here. You will be traced, Mademoiselle. I know little of your history, and do not wish to pry, but Madame, he is your safest bet. Do you know of whom I speak of?"

Christine looked up at him through her tears. Without answering, she held up a hand, covering one side of her face. She gave him a questioning look, and he nodded in response. Then so it was her former Angel. Her path would now lead her back to him in one more cruel turn of chance. Although, she felt a very large wave of relief sweep over her. He had not been caught, or worse, killed that night. He had fled in sorrow and grief to hide out somewhere else. And still he feared for her safety, after everything she had done to him. It hurt to be loved so much by him.

They had begun to make their way to the end of the wood; the trees had started to sparse out. It was midday now, and rain had begun to lightly pad on the ground, turning heavier with every minute passing. The sky turned an angry grey, threatening their pace and progress. Finally they came to a road on the edge of the wood. Looking up and down it, they saw nothing in the drizzle of rain. Christine had pulled her travel coat she had worn for her outing over her head. The hem of her riding dress was coated in mud, and her makeshift bandage had begun to turn red with her still seeping blood. She had also begun to feel a bit faint from her bleeding. After about half an hour walking, following the road south, a carriage could be seen coming from behind them. It was flat land, so it took the carriage about 20 minutes to catch up with them. When it arrived, Nasih stood in front of it, causing the horses to stop. The man driving the carriage or now they saw a merchant cart, carrying goods of some sort in the back, looked at them with a heavy frown. Nasih managed to convince him to let them ride in the back for a while. It took the driver a long time, but when Christine pleaded, he couldn't refuse her. He even offered her some of his food he had with him. She declined politely, as she didn't like the look of the rotten picnic. The cart was luckily carrying wool from England, which they snuggled into, grateful for the covering over the cart, keeping the rain off them. It clobbered down the road for a good few hours, and Nasih had now run out of cigarettes, which had made Christine angry, as it stung her already swollen eyes. He stressfully picked at the wool, trying to occupy his mind.

"Where is your name from?" Christine asked, breaking the silence. "Its not a French name, it's very unusual." He looked up at her and smiled.

"Persian." He replied. She was surprised, as he didn't really have the distinctive Middle East look. He took note of her raised eyebrows. "My mother was Anglo-French and my Father was Persian. She had left for Persia when her English father left to help with the war."

Christine was intrigued with his story. He told her of the romantic tale of his mother and father, their love affair, and the hatred of each others families. It reminded her of a story her father used to read her, Romeo and Juliette. It made her smile, yet made her sad that she never knew her mother. Her father on the other hand, she preferred not to talk about. It seemed Nasih knew more than she did, and it made her bitter. She kept quiet about it.

"So, how…how did you meet…_him?_" She asked quietly, as if someone might hear her.

"Who? Hat el-ef? He said in his perfect Persian accent. She nodded solemnly, grateful that he never referred to _him_ as anything else, as she felt she would feel sick.

"I met him in Persia, where he hired me for a very generous amount of money. Very shady character isn't…" He stopped, remembering her sore reaction to him when he had mentioned him before. He pondered why she had been so genuinely terrified of him, and why she was so reluctant to see him. Had he hurt her in someway? No, that could be, he had hired someone to look after her. He also felt guilt at the memory of his master's words.

"Don't, what you do, tell her what you are doing, or where I am. Never, do you hear?" Said the masked man. Nasih had agreed readily. The sum of payment was easy enough. Yet now, he had got himself involved in the whole mess, and didn't know what to do. He had to take her to him. Nasih looked at the pretty young girl. Her head was hung; her hair mattered to her head, and her leg slightly trembling with pain. He saw also, a curious look on her face, a look of confusion. She looked up at him with her questioning brown eyes.

"Persia? So that must have been a long time ago. But how did he hire you then, he didn't even know me?"

Nasih frowned. "No Ma'am, he hired me about a month ago. That's when I met him."

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"But that means that he must have gone to…"

"Persia, yes." Nasih nodded. "I said we were going to Marseille Mademoiselle, but only for a short while. From there we are getting the train."

He took her silence as confusion.

"A mail train. It goes through Europe, The Alps, through Russia, then onto Persia, our stop."


	6. Delays of a kind

**(Just a note: The Franco-Prussian war did come about in 1870, around April, halting the mail trains through the country through to India. Seeing as though Christine left Erik in 1870, around winter like February, and my story is 2 months…your intelligent, u can work it out ;) )**

**- --**

The cart had brought Christine and Nasih to Lyon. The days had brightened, and sometimes Nasih had offered to drive the cart a while for the merchant. On arrival they thanked him graciously, and had spent a night in a small hotel for a rest. Nasih had paid for it from a large amount of cash he had stashed in his large waistcoat.

"Why didn't you pay the merchant?" Christine had asked angrily. She had found Nasih to be a man of habits that got on her nerves. He had bought a whole load of cigarettes for himself, and a large meal, which Christine had felt in no mood for.

"I'm not made of money!" He grinned. It certainly seemed to her that he was.

He had payed the next morning for a carriage to take them to Marseille. It took them another long day to travel down south, and Christine was starting to feel very weary. On the first days of traveling she had run through so many states of mind, she no had a constant headache. She had cried herself to sleep many times, mourning the loss of Raoul and trying desperately to force the image of his body slouched over the stairs out of her fragile mind. She wished she could pour her sorrow into a bottle and throw it away. Other times she had sat in fear, biting her nails to shreds on the thoughts of _him._ She imagined all the scenarios, his facial expression when she turned up, his reaction, would he be happy, would he turn her out? She wouldn't be surprised if he did. Funny enough, he was the one thing that made her want to live. Desperate thoughts had entered her head on occasion, yet the thought of him, at the opera, at one of their lessons, his adoring eyes, made her will power stronger. All this time, Nasih had watched from a distance curiously, asking no questions.

Arriving at Marseille was a relief for Christine. She wanted nothing more than to never ride in a carriage again. The confined space made her panicky and nervous. Marseille was a beautiful city, second largest in France. The magnificent buildings had an old medieval look to them, and the large port took Christine's breath away. The carriage had taken them right to the ports, where the train station lay not far from. Nasih began straight away, making Christine sigh. Her leg had got progressively worse in pain, yet the bleeding had stopped. She decided not to make a fuss over it, apart from when her legs gave way a little, causing Nasih to help her by holding her arm. They were getting rather queer looks from passers by, as they were coated in mud, hair in disarray, rotten from their days on the road.

"First things first, we have to get a good clean up." He took her to a dress makers, were she picked out a practical navy blue dress, with a matching ridding corset, with little cream flowers sewn on. He bought her a large riding cloak too, matching in colour. He bought himself just a new shirt and riding outfit, still keeping his large waistcoat with him. Next he took her to a physician, who took a good long look at her calf. He cleaned it up best he could and treated it with creams and such, then bandaging it up with fresh linen. He also gave her some painkillers, making the pain subside for a while, making her a little happier. They began to make their way towards the train station. Christine was feeling hot in her large cloak, so she removed it. The southern French sun was unforgiving, and even Nasih had slung his coat over his shoulder. The crowds were getting heavier the nearer they got to the station. Christine was beginning to feel very sick, people were pushing and shoving her, and her legs were shaking under the weight of her new dress and the pain of her leg. Her head throbbed violently, and the world began to spin. She tried to block out the loud noises of the crowds, and she seemed to succeed, as the world suddenly went dark and quiet. She felt peaceful for a few seconds, until her nightmare came flooding back to her. The retreating boat, the cold cellars and the man, whose heart was shown in his face. Broken, completely shattered. Her heart died with his disappearance. She felt herself being shaken, and her eyes slowly came back into focus. The sun was still blaring, yet shade was cooling her body temperature kindly. She focused a little more, seeing a blur of worried faces around her, the nearest being Nasih's, shaking her slightly. The shade was the covering over the train station.

"Christine, are you ok?" He asked feverishly. She groaned and tried to stand up, with loads of hands helping her. She was now fully awake again, and felt a little embarrassed. The crowd around her was fussing, offering water and help, yet she wanted nothing more than space.

"I'm fine now, thank you. I'm not accustomed to the heat, really." The crowd moved on, strangely drawn away by another thing to fuss about. Nasih looked at her worried.

"Was it the heat?"

She ignored him. "I'm OK, really." She demanded. She was not ok, but she wasn't going to admit that. She had come too far to delay now. Delaying would cause her trouble, her life even. Even though the fear of going forward made her heart falter, she knew she had no other real choice. She shook thoughts from her head as she followed Nasih's gaze toward the train station, were a rowdy crowd was gathering. Shouts, cheers, annoyed comments were being made, and she was intrigued to see what was going on. Nasih told her to wait were she was, but she followed him anyway. The crowd seemed to be gathered around the ticket booth, were a large poster was on display. There was no one in the booth, which worried Christine. When they had pushed their way to the front, the poster read a daunting message.

**MAIL TRAIN TO INDIA VIA MIDDLE EAST**

**HAD REGREATABLLY BEEN HALTED DUE**

**TO RECENT PROGRESS IN THE**

**FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR. **

**WE APOLOGIES FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE.**

"Damn it." Nasih wrung his hands. Christine looked desperately at him.

"What are we going to do?" Her heart began to sink, maybe they would not get to Persia after all, and she wouldn't see…_him._ Why couldn't she think of his name, of his real form? Every time she had to think of him, she would get a flash image of his mask, and then she would banish it straight away, dismissing him to a nameless face. She felt ashamed.

Nasih sighed. "We can still get there. We just have to go by sea." Christine saw a flash of fear sweep across his weathered face, and it turned a nasty shade of green.

"Is that a problem?" She asked, unconsciously plucking his arm. He smiled wearily.

"It is when you've got a phobia of boats."

- --

"Fa…Father?"

Meg spluttered. Her mind raced with so many emotions. Confusion, denial, anger towards her mother, and hatred.

"That's a lie!" She spat. "My father is dead!"

"Almost dead, princess, thanks to your mother. She would have let me rot in that prison, so really I was as good as dead until now."

He paced towards Madame Giry again and dragged her by the arm. She made no fuss, as she feared for her daughter's safety. Co-operation would be her best bet for now. He looked at her directly and stroked her cheek.

"We could have lived like royalty, you and I, and Meg." He cooed. "Even little Christine. We could have raised her, let her in on the money that was meant for us." Madame Giry spat in his face. He calmly wiped it with a pocket handkerchief, and resumed his speech, much darker this time. "But now, Mon Cher, Christine's fate lies on your hands. Your decision all those years ago, to turn me in, lead to you loosing anyway. I will have the Daae inheritance, the inheritance which is rightfully mine. And you are going to help me."

"No!" This scream came from Meg. "We will never help you! Christine is…is…like a sister! We will never help you find her!"

He chuckled, which made Madame Giry shudder. "Maybe you won't, my sweet." He held her face tenderly. "But your mother will."

Meg gave Madame Giry pleading eyes. Madame Giry replied to the stare with loss. Meg gasped at the fear she saw embedded in her mother's eyes. She had only ever seen it before when Christine had been taken by the Phantom after the great chandelier falling. It struck fear into Meg's heart. If her mother was afraid, then there was little hope.

"George," She muttered hoarsely. "You won't get away with this. Please… please don't do this again."

He looked at her for a long time. Once, once the pair had been in love. He had witnessed her in a ballet performance at the Opera Populaire long ago, as a very popular gentleman. He had been captivated with her, and she was attracted to his dashing good looks and charming personality. It took 10 years of marriage to find out what kind of man he really was.

"It's too late for that, Maria." He muttered. "I want what I deserve." He pulled out a gun and pointed it into Meg's forehead, who whelped with pain and fear. Her blue eyes were streaked with terror. Madame Giry winced. "Tell me…tell me where she is."

Madame Giry shook her head slowly, mouth slightly open with shock. "You wouldn't dare. She…she is your daughter."

Monsieur Robard's eyes flashed dangerously. He cocked the gun, causing Meg to sob.

"TELL ME!"


	7. Confessions of Truth

The tickets they had booked for the ship were for the next morning. They had booked into a small B&B on the Cote de Plage, facing the docks. Christine watched out of the window as the workers tied up their boats for the night, the restaurants began to turn on their comforting lights of welcome, inviting smells of seafood traveling up to her. The cool seaside breeze was a welcome change to the weather she had been accustom to for the past few days. Her mind was the most at ease it had been for a while. Although her head was still throbbing, it was strangely mundane. Her emotions had calmed a little, and she could hear her heart had stopped beating as fast. She felt far from happy, her heart was broke. But the fear for her life had now turned to revenge. She wasn't going to die; these people would not get what they wanted from her. They had killed Raoul, and would now suffer for it. She was going to stay alive for him.

Nasih was sitting on a basket chair inside the room. He drew back on a cigarette, breathing it in deeply, and releasing through his nostrils, ever watching Christine. He was intrigued by her. He had not seen her in the first month at the De Chagney residence when he had first taken the job of coach driver. She had been shut away in a room, away from the outside world. Rumors had spread around the maids and staff at the Estate about her apparent madness. He heard that she had fell into a deep depression, and refused to talk to anyone, not even her fiancée. His experience of her was confusing. In certain situations, he would have found her quite annoying. She did nothing but whine and cry, yet his heart went to her. She was in mourning; she had seen horrendous things for a young girl. He frowned sympathetically at her, watching the night breeze dance around her, shifting her freshly washed hair slightly. She turned suddenly, catching his stare. He was too stubborn to look away, but he did look embarrassed. She sighed, not really noticing. She sat slowly onto the bed, her face twisting slightly as her leg knocked against the side of the bed. She breathed quietly for a while, listening to the buzz of the night outside.

"Why do you fear him?"

Nasih spoke in his slightly accented voice. She never turned to look at him. She closed her eyes. Should she tell him what happened. She still really didn't know who Nasih was.

"Because of what Iv done to him."

Nasih shifted to the edge of his seat curiously. So these two did have a long history together, and what he had collaborated, a pretty bad one.

"He obviously cares for you." He said quietly. Christine made a huffing sound of disbelief. She stared into the distance for a while before replying. The silence was deafening.

"I…I can't ask him for forgiveness." She said, with her voice breaking. "My actions were unforgiving. I was surprised he even cares that I am alive."

"Wh...What did you do?" Nasih almost whispered. She turned this time, looking directly into his eyes with her large chestnut ones. He felt hypnotized by her, mystery pulsating from her beauty, deepening her once innocent features. Sadness blazed in her eyes, making his heart leap.

"I killed him."

Nasih sat in the silence for a while, a look of confusion and shock on his face. She turned to look out the window. She tried to talk, but nothing louder than a squeak came forth. She tried again.

"I took his heart, toyed with it, and threw it back in his face." Tears were now pouring down her face. All Nasih wanted to do was wipe them away, for he could not stand the look of loss he saw so deeply in her expression, and expression he had seen more distant in his masters eyes. He slowly made his way over to her, and sat down next to her. He had extinguished his cigarette, and rested his elbows on his knees, clutching his hands together, hanging loosely. They stared out of the window for a while, thinking their own private thoughts in each others company.

"Thank you." Came a whisper from Christine. He turned his head to look at her. The girl, young enough to be his own daughter, looked fondly at him, or as fondly as she could muster. He smiled kindly.

"My pleasure Miss Daae." He held one of her tiny hands and gave her a sincere look. "You know, I don't think everything will be as bad as you think. If what I am witnessing here is love, then real love, Christine, will always overthrow feelings of guilt and hatred. I promise you."

She smiled through her tears. She lifted up his hand he had wrapped around hers and kissed it. He looked surprised, but she clutched it and continued smiling.

"I will keep you to that promise, Monsieur."

- --

George pressed the gun harder into Megs head. Maria Giry was trapped. Her daughter was in the line of danger, and so would her foster daughter if she spoke. Christine meant the world to Giry, but she could not overlook her own daughter's safety.

"You shoot, and I will never talk." She spat. In frustration, Monsieur Robard threw Meg to the floor aggressively, making her cry out in pain. He grabbed Madame Giry and spun her around, so he had tight hold of her arms behind her back. He moved to talk in her ear.

"Then if you can't watch our daughter die, then maybe you can witness suffering of a different kind, hmm?"

He nodded to the men who were watching from the corner, and they pounced on Meg. Meg began to scream, kick and tried to wriggle out of their grip, but four men on one young girl was never a winning situation. They pushed her around, laughing cruelly and lifting her skirts tormenting her. She tried to run past them a few times, and one time she tried, one man, a fat burly man with tattoos all up his arms grabbed her and pushed her to the floor. She kit the floor with a terrible crack to the head. Madame Giry was screaming for the torment to stop.

"Just say you'll talk, and it will all go away." Monsieur Robard scoffed. Madame Giry hesitated. Inevitably, the worst was still yet to come, and it had already started, as the men were now ripping at Megs clothes, who had collapsed in the middle of the cruel circle.

"Ok! Ok I will talk. Arrêt, please! Stop this…"

The men looked disappointed as Robard ward them off Meg. Meg, sobbing, crawled into her mother's arms, who had slumped to the floor in shock when Robard had let her go. She shushed her daughter softly, yet gave Robard deathly looks.

"Your own daughter…" She breathed heavy. "You're…your sick."

"Maybe." Robard said casually. "But now, you will talk. Or I will not stop my men this time." Meg grabbed her mother's arms as she stood.

"Non Mamon! I can't let him hurt Christine! I will gladly suffer for her."

Meg saw tears welling in Madame Giry's eyes. Her voice broke in her answer.

"My darling, I can't let them hurt you. You are my daughter. At least Christine has a chance, but you, you my love, your sitting prey." She let out a sob after this, and Meg clung to her.

Robard was getting impatient. He ragged Meg away from her mother, and pulled Madame Giry up, slamming her once again into the wall. She held her by her arms and face, looking her dead in the eyes.

"One last time. WHERE…is she?"

Madame Giry looked to the floor in utter shame.

"At the De Chagney residence. She's Raoul's de Chagney's wife."

He pressed her into the wall harder, putting a tightening grip on her waist.

"I won't be as forgiving next time. I will hurt her. Now tell me the truth."

Madame Giry looked confused.

"That is the truth, bastard."

He hit her across the face. "We've already traced her there, no luck on catching her though. She is a slippery little character, but she was helped. What I want to know is where she has gone."

Madame Giry was secretly glad. Christine got away! She thanked God someone was watching over her. But who? Who had helped her? I didn't matter for the moment; at least she was safe, or as safe as she could be without these lunatics knowing where she was.

Robard went to hit her again, and when she flinched, he laughed.

"I know you know something, Maria. Tell me, or the brat gets innocence destroyed." The men laughed roughly. Meg had cowered in the opposite corner to them, next to the chair and window. Robard sighed.

"Have it your way." He signaled them towards Meg, but she stopped them.

"NO WAIT!" She screamed. She looked her former lover in the eyes.

"If this is a lie, Maria, you will pay."

Madame Giry would have gladly suffered for Christine, yet her Meg; she could not let anyone touch her. No, she would have to tell them what she thought to be true.

"I promise you, I don't know where she is, or where she might have run too." She ignored the angry glint in the man's eyes. "Yet, yet I do know where you might find something else of use. You can take that and leave us alone; we can be no more of use."

"You tell me first what it is." He hissed.

Madame Giry gulped, and gave a fleeting glance to her daughter. Meg looked fearfully back. At least this way, they had helped without putting Christine in danger, money or none.

"I know, George, where Christine's documents are. All you will need to be classed as her inheritor."

Christine has fallen into a depression after her leaving Erik in the Opera. Attempts to make her feel better dont go exactly to plan


	8. Song of a Memory

**Disc. Note: I'm using a song from 'A walk to remember', sung by mandy moore in this chapter, so all rights to the lyrics go to that. Its not mine!**

Morning had arrived, yet morning had begun a lot earlier for Christine. She had awoken sometime in the night, full of bad dreams. She could find no comfort anymore from sleep. She had arisen well before sunrise, and had felt her leg had stiffened considerably. She tried to walk on it for a while, but gave up. She waited, sitting up in bed, till the sun awoke, and Nasih, who was snoring on the makeshift bed on the floor. When they had both got up and ready, they made their way down to the harbour, where their boat, Le Paon, was waiting. It was not as big as some of the boats in the dock, but there were a considerable number of people boarding it. Christine felt frustrated by the jostling around her, and even more by Nasih, who was clutching her arm none too gently as the walked up the busy gang plank.

"Monsieur, I would be grateful if you loosened your grip." She demanded angrily. She turned to him, and saw his face twisted.

"Pardon, Christine, Pardon, it's...just…." He stayed in the middle of the gang plank looking straight ahead, wringing his hands together. She had forgot, he had mentioned yesterday he had a phobia of boats.

"If it's any consolation, I have never been on a boat before…" She was thrust back to her memory suddenly, of her voyage under the opera house in the small gondola. She frowned. "Well, not as big as this anyway." He smiled at her, but his face kept its whitey green colour.

They waited around an hour on board before the boat finally left the harbour. They were waved off by children, who ran along side as it pulled out of bay. Christine had watched from on deck, but Nasih had retired to the cabins, preferring to see less of it all as possible.

Christine liked being on deck. She felt better with the sea breeze moving through her hair and soothing her head. She propped herself on the rail of the boat, looking back and watching Marseille disappear into the distance. She felt an overwhelming sense of sadness as she watched her beloved France leave her. She felt not despair, not grief, just sadness. Her memories of France where life altering, and although a lot of them were not good memories, she treasured them all the same. She felt the same as when she had boarded the train with Madame Giry 11 years ago. She had leaned out of the window in the same state of sadness, watching Sweden disappear forever, along with the days spent there with her father. Her father. This brought new tears as she remembered her fathers smell of sweet aftershave and pipe tobacco. She would snuggle into his lap as he told her stories of far off places, princesses and lions, dragons and slayers, polar bears and ice queens. Her childhood had been a place of magic, and being thrust out of them was like being thrown into a pool of ice water.

"Oh Lotty, where did you go?" She whispered to herself.

Her tears were silent, and they dropped into the rushing sea beneath her, but her heart was screaming from the agony it had been through. Christine was on deck for hours, discovering every inch of the boat, analysing what would be her home for the next week. She spent several days doing this, wandering around, talking to the crew and passengers. A lot of the crew had taken a shine to the young girl, and were more than happy to take her were none of the other passengers went. Even the Captain became a friend to her. One night, she sat with some of the crew, and some passengers in one of the large cabins, like a social room under the galley. It was very warm and cosy, and the choppy sea outside did not dampen the high spirits of those inside.

There had been drink and sing song all night, and Christine had felt the happiest she had been for a long time. She even laughed on occasions. Nasih was in deep conversation with another Persian, on his way to see his family after working in Normandy. Christine was sitting with another young woman, who was holding a baby tenderly, while 2 of her other children ran around happily playing chase. Christine smiled at the sight.

"You must be very proud." She said to the woman. The woman had a very plump, jolly face, and she smiled at Christine. Her accent was that of southern France, and Christine had trouble sometimes understanding her.

"Yes, yes, they are beautiful children! Wish I could say the same for their father, stupid brute." She nodded in the direction of a very large looking man, laughing heartily with some of the crew, swinging back dregs of ale. Christine giggled, and so did the young woman, whose name was Clementine. She had been chatting with the woman over the duration of the trip, and found the couple to be a very loving one. They often bantered about each others weight and looks, but Christine knew that they both had deep love for each other. She envied them.

"Hey, so where are you all off to?" Said one of the crew. Clementine and her husband told story of him finding a job in India, and it meant they had to move. Others told stories of jobs, families and friends. When it came to Christine, she looked at Nasih desperately. He intervened quickly.

"We're trying to find out parents. We heard rumours that they were staying in Persia after they were caught up in the Franco-Prussian war." He lied wonderfully. Christine and Nasih had adopted the story that they were brother and sister. Although they didn't look exactly alike, Nasih's fair skin complimented Christine's dark hair, and so could have been siblings. Everyone had accepted it, as it would have been unheard of for a man to be accompanying a young girl whom he had no relation to. It would have been very inappropriate. And anyway, Christine did not want to talk about who she really was, as no doubt, a lot of these people were from France and would have inevitable read in the newspaper about the scandal with the Phantom of the Opera. She thought it best not to say anything.

After stories were told, Nasih began a sing song. He sang a beautiful old Persian song, accompanied with other native Persian travellers banging their feet and boxes like drums rhythmically. One of the crew members offered a hand to Christine to dance, and after a bit of persuasion, she did. She thoroughly enjoyed it, dancing. She felt happy and light headed when she did, carefree. When the song was over, she slumped down next to Clementine, who sang next a very rude song about a farmer and his mistress. Christine felt herself go red at some of the things Clementine said, never hearing such crudeness before. There was a roar of approval after she finished, and claps on the back followed with laughter. Clementine turned to Christine.

"Hey Chris, you should sing us a song. Iv heard you humming, you know a lot of songs don't'cha?"

Christine looked worried. "No, no, I couldn't possibly. I'm not very good."

"Awww, come on Christine!" Said Clementine's husband. "Sing us a soft one, ready for bed type, y'know." Everyone cheered and snuggled down into the blankets and cushions that where on the cabin floor. She frowned and thought for a while.

"Erm…ok…Ill try. I will try to remember one."

Christine didn't want to sing. She felt sick when she attempted anymore, as it brought her back to her lessons. She thought of a song she could sing for them. Not one she had sung with _him._ Too painful. Then she remembered a song she had written herself. A simple song, while a haunting melody, she had wrote it…about _him._ But she had never sung it to him before, as she was too afraid. Maybe now was a good time for it.

"Ok, I have a song."

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking herself back to the time when she had wrote it, how she had felt. Confused mostly, yet she remembered, it was a time before Raoul had arrived, a time when her singing lessons were all that mattered, and all that mattered was…Erik. Her heart leaped as she finally accepted his memory. She burst into the song.

"_There's a song that's inside of my soul._

_It's the one that I'v tried to write over and over again._

_I'm awake in the infinite cold._

_But you sing to me over and over and over again._

_So I lay my head back down,_

_And I lift my hands and pray, to be only yours I pray,_

_To be only yours, I know now, you're my only hope."_

The cabin had gone completely silent, watching her, mouths slightly open. Even the children had settled in their parents lap quietly. They listened hypnotised to the beautiful girl with the angelic voice. Nasih was staring at her amazed and entranced.

"_Sing to me the song of the stars,_

_of your galaxies dancing and laughing and laughing again._

_When it seems all my dreams are so far,_

_Sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again._

_So I lay my head back down, _

_And I lift my hands and pray, to be only yours I pray,_

_To be only yours I know now, you're my only hope._

_I give you my destiny, I'm giving you all of me,_

_I want your symphony, singing in all that I am,_

_At the top of my lungs, I'm giving it back._

_So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray,_

_To be only yours, I pray, to be only yours,_

_I know now, you're my only hope."_

Christine took a sharp breath in of realization at the end of her song. She had been singing about how she had felt then, and more worryingly, she had just confirmed how she felt now. She knew now, that Erik was her only hope of her happiness being restored.


	9. Master and his Courtesan

A woman, around 25, skipped quickly across the baking floor. She had sandals on, but the heat from the sun was still scalding her feet and head. It was midday, so the sun was at its most lethal. She was almost at her destination, so she didn't really try and search for shade. The young woman was used to the hot Persian sun. This was evident from her brown shoulders visible under her transparent veil wrapped around her head and upper body. Her hair was raven black, complimenting her ethnic features. She was a very beautiful young woman, and her clothes suggested she was of wealthy status. Yet the riddle of her being was to be looked in to a lot deeper. The woman was a courtesan, paid for by the wealthiest of men. She came from one of the exclusive brothels, where only the rich were customers. She was dressed so beautifully from the gifts men showered her with. Her parent's had been killed in the wars of Persia and the Ottoman Empire, and so was left to the streets, when the owner of the Courtesan house had took her in, noting her beauty as a fine way for money.

She was now on her way to one of her clients houses. She was more used to services being in the brothel itself, or in the high courts in the Capital, yet she didn't mind travelling to this particular man.

When she arrived at his house, or rather, his Estate, she was escorted by a butler up the path towards his grand keep, which any bigger would have been classed as a palace. It was an astounding structure. Eastern in design, yet held an air of Western architecture, proud and dominating. Its windows were all shuttered with beautiful iron works, curling and carved into breathtaking shapes that almost told stories. The front garden was huge, full of trees and beautiful exotic flowers, on one side of the large garden there was a fountain. The young woman adored this fountain, as it held such beauty that she had never seen before. There was a structure of three women in the centre, all with perfect anatomy. One was playing a harp, another dancing, and the other, the centred and most beautiful, was silently singing. Her stone hand was upright towards the heavens, holding a single rose. The other held outright, sprouted the water in one direction, while the others held out the hands cascaded the water in other directions.

The young woman would often make these trips, as the master of the Estate requested her particularly. The other girls at the brothel were jealous of her, as the man was rumoured to have a magnificent sum of money. The young woman also knew that the man held heartbreakingly good looks, or that which she could see, for half of the man's face was covered. The woman had often had clients were they had hid their face with a veil of some sort, not wanting to be identified for being in a brothel, but she had never seen a covering of this sort. It was a mask, an ivory white mask, perfectly sculpted to the right side of his face. It held his mystery in place, but she had no complaints. It was not her place to know why.

On approaching the large front doors, she marvelled again at the iron works, so fine in detail, with roses and music notes, harps and instruments. It could have been studied for days. The door swung open after a signal knocking from the butler, and she entered. She was lead up flights of stairs to a door where she was left alone. The woman felt nervous, a strange feeling she had not encountered for quite some time now, only when she was with this man. She knocked gingerly on the door.

"Enter." A deep voice rumbled from within. She pushed the heavy door open into one of the many rooms. She was greeted by a familiar sight. The amazingly decorated room which held an enormous bed, again decorated like the doors and windows. She was not interested in this sight, more the man that was stood next to the window. She took a shaky breath in and smiled at him. He did not smile back, but moved away from the glare of the window so she could see him properly in the shaded room. He looked magnificent. He was clad in a shimmering Persian robe, pure black. It gleamed from the reflection of the sun, making him silluetted. She watched him walk towards her quietly, not daring to breath. He had a black mask on this time, to compliment his outfit. It covered all the top half of his face, just showing his glittering green eyes, dancing menacingly. The young woman felt her toes curl.

"Sara. I hope your journey was not too much trouble?" His tone did not seem as caring as the question was.

"Yes, I mean no, it was no trouble… Hal-el-tef"

She saw his mouth slightly move at the sides, indicating a smile, or rather a suggestive smirk. Her heart fluttered as he moved his face slowly to hers and kissed her cheek, breathing in her scent as he did so. She fluttered her eyes shut, putting her hands on his broad shoulders. He moved again, lower, moving her veil away from her shoulder, and caressing it with his lips. Sara's breathing became heavier as he kissed her, she felt her body melting into him; a feeling which she had to no other man she was with. However, she sometimes got the impression that he never saw her. He would make love to her, and treat her with profound respect, yet she always knew he never really acknowledged her. It hurt her a lot, and she had been warned by the matron of the brothel not to let feelings occur. But she couldn't help it. She knew she loved this man, even if he did not love her, she would make him see, and that maybe he could love her in return.

That day they had spent together lasted until night fall. Hal-el-tef had ordered a huge banquet for Sara afterwards, and gave her gifts of beautiful clothes and jewellery he had crafted especially for her. She marvelled at its beauty, yet she knew it's not what she wanted. She wanted him. And again, he had refused to see this. That night he sent her home in a rickshaw, the same he did every time on her visits. As she sat in the back of the carriage, she let a single tear slide down her cheek.

Erik had watched the rickshaw take the young woman away down the long path to the end of the grounds, where it turned out the gates, taking her back to the brothel. He retired to his bedroom, a place where he would take no one, not even Sara. It was the most beautiful of rooms, full of red drapes of muslin and candelabras and candles littered it. It held a balcony, which was facing sunset. The angry shade of orange was still visible on the horizon, setting an astonishing shadow across the ethnic roof tops of the city. Erik drank in the sight, feeling nothing but pain amongst the beauty. He swung back a bottle of alcohol he had clutched in his hand, trying to drown out thoughts of the past desperately. Tears appeared as he gulped hungrily, and after he emptied the bottle, he threw it at full force against his bedroom wall. It smashed, sending shards of glass skidding across the room. He fell to his knees and let out a cry of anguish.

"Why…why won't you leave me alone?" He muttered through sobs.

"You haunt me every day, every hour, every second. I can't see…I …I can't breath. Why do you follow me? I…I HATE YOU."

He spun around, sending his candelabras smashing to the ground, shredding curtains from their rails and kicking boarder screens over in fury. He collapsed onto the floor once more, crying angrily well into the night.


	10. Selfishness of Jealousy

The morning of the arrival at Turkey was an exciting one. The last few days on board the ship had been rough, as the Mediterranean had taken a turn for the worst. The crew had been fighting to keep the ship on course, while the passengers had hid below deck out of the raging weather. They had finally arrived a day late at the port of ….. in Turkey. Christine again had leaned over the rail of the boat to watch them pull into dock. The sight had been amazing. She had never experienced anything like the sigh that met her eyes. The dock was crowded, rather like it was in Marseille, but there was a different aura to the place. The majestic colours that sprinkled the dusty port were entrancing. Women in brightly clad robes and veils carried large baskets of fish and spices to the ships, in an array of colours. Deep reds and shocking oranges were the norm, and everything seemed so finely detailed. Christine drank the sight in hungrily. The crew said their goodbyes to the passengers sadly, waving farewells and shouting hopeful promises of seeing each other again. Christine was slightly glad to be gone of the claustrophobic spaces, and Nasih suddenly had a new spring in his step that Christine had not seen in France. He was grinning slightly, and pointing out things to her animatedly. She gaped at some of the sights, like street performers for the new arrivals, seaside markets, selling fish of every sort, the smells and sounds were so foreign to Christine, she almost felt she had landed in a new world.

"We now have to get on the final train." Nasih said, pointing through to a small rickety building, which was lay next to a rail track, hardly recognisable as a train station. The crowd was a lot more rowdy here than what it was in Marseille, yet Christine hardly noticed. She was too enthralled by the amazing sights of this new country.

"Wait till you see Persia." Nasih puffed his broad chest out proudly. "There you will see beauty you only see in your dreams." He had slipped into his Persian accent a lot more now he was in his own territory. She noticed, despite his lack of darker features, he blended in wonderfully with the crowds, looking like this is where he belonged, a lot more comfortable. She felt, however, like a foreigner, which she was, yet she felt she stuck out quite a bit, clad in her Western dress, which was beginning to feel very uncomfortable under the midday sun. She shifted slightly, frowning. She felt the same horrible sense of faintness she had felt back in the crowds at Marseille.

"Nasih…" She tugged his at his arm, which she had been linking onto. "I can't wear this damn dress any longer. I feel like I'm about to melt!" Nasih smiled. He lead her too a large stall in the market, where beautiful fabrics were draped all over the canopy, shading the dark haired women who owned the little shop. Nasih spoke to them in another language, different, Christine recognised, to the Persian language she had heard him speak before. After he had finished, the women had took Christine by the arms, smiling and chatting to each other, stroking her curls, and clutching her chin. Christine gave a worried glance to Nasih.

"Go with them." He smiled. "You'll be ok."

Nasih waited by the stall as the women took Christine to a small hut not too far away. He pulled out another cigarette, taking a slow drag after lighting. He was ever so glad to be off the boat, and back to where he belonged. He felt at home again, away from the drab, mundane atmosphere of Europe. He made a mental note not to return if he could help it. He missed his life here in the East. He also thought of Christine. She had enchanted the company that night with her awing singing. He had got the feeling there was a lot more to the situation than what he had expected. This girl and his master, he could not comprehend. The deepness he saw in their eyes, the sorrow and the dreadful pain he had felt protruding from them made him think hard. He was a rational man, a man who believed in what was in front of him. Yet his mind had been opened by the mysterious Christine, young, yet beyond her years at the same time. He felt his attraction to her disturbing, and tried to shake it away, but his heart gave a skip when she came out of the small hut once more, smiling with the women, who babbled in their language, obviously admiring Christine. Nasih had never seen anyone look so beautiful before. He had heard stories of woman that had made men mad with their beauty. Fairy stories of course, but now he was beginning to doubt their fiction. Christine had been dressed by the women in their own eastern clothes. She wore a long cotton black skirt, which just covered her boots which she had kept on. Her top was a wrapped over back material which complimented her figure astoundingly, and over that was a long, see-through veil, which the women had traditionally wrapped around her waist, up to her shoulders, and loosely draped around her hair, which they had gathered into a bun, letting stray curls fall flatteringly around her porcelain face. Christine blushed slightly at Nasih's gaze.

"You look…beautiful." He stammered. She smiled sadly.

"Thank you." She said awkwardly. She felt a lot better in this dress, comfortable, and cooler. She had never sported her hair like this before, and she felt the back of her neck cool considerably. Yet she felt strange under Nasih's stare. She decided to ignore it.

He now led her to the train station, were the crowds were waiting for the train to arrive.

"It will take about a day to get to the capital," Nasih explained. "And about half a day to get to our destination." Christine frowned.

"But I thought we were going to the capital of Persia. Isn't that were he…where we are going?" Nasih shook his head.

"He utterly refused to ever go to the capital." Nasih looked distant, as if in deep thought. "He said it would dangerous for him."

"Why?"

"I can't say I know, Christine. He took up home in Shiraz, a beautiful place south of Persia. They say it is the home to all artists and poets of the world."

That sounds like the right place, Christine thought, with a hint of sickness rushing through her. The nerves were becoming more apparent as every hour passed and every step she took closer. He had spent so long being close to her, so near, and yet she had never seen him for years. She was terrified of him, yet wanted him with her always. The same as what she felt now. She would have run back to Paris and faced death, if it wasn't for the urge to look upon her mentor once more, to see him happy; to rid herself of this waking nightmare of his pain riddled face as she left him.

The train had arrived and set off quickly. The train was not orderly; it was packed with travellers to Persia, India and further East. There were no seats, just railing along the side to hold onto. The ticket collector had to fight to make his way to the end of the train, and sometimes missing people who jumped on and off at stops. Nasih had paid him from the endless pocket he had in his waist coat, and sat on the floor. Christine had leaned out the open windows to watch the foreign landscape whiz by. They passed towns, cities, country, mountains and farms. She felt her head spinning with all the new sights she could not keep up with. Soon she felt herself sitting tiredly next to Nasih as night fell. She moved closer to him, as the breeze from the empty windows was getting quite cold. He put his jacket over her as she placed her head on his shoulder, falling into another troubled sleep. Nasih watched her for a while, putting out his cigarette as not to disturb her with the smoke. As she slept, he felt his own eyes drooping. The light rickety noise of the train on track felt soothing, and the night air was heavy, making sleep inviting, so Nasih also, fell into a thoughtful doze.

- --

Christine and Nasih were both awoke by shouts of annoyance and anger. Christine sat up groggily as she tried to focus on the scene. The train was still moving, yet it was early morning, as the hot morning sun was greeting them with. Nasih stood up and spoke to some of the passengers aboard the train. He looked slightly worried as he turned to Christine, and then swearing in a foreign tongue.

"What's wrong?" She said urgently. He shook his head in annoyance.

"It's my fault, I shouldn't have fallen asleep." He groaned. "My jacket. It's gone. Few of the other passengers stuff has gone too."

Christine looked around to see there was no jacket. She looked worried.

"How are we going to pay for anything now?" She said in a high pitched voice. Nasih shrugged and sighed.

"I'm not worried about that." He said, pulling some noted from his trouser pockets. Christine sighed in relief, and looked at Nasih, who looked distraught. "My cigarettes where in my jacket!"

A few hours later, around mid morning, the train came to finally came to Tehran, Persia's capital. Christine felt her heart leap as she left the smelly train carriage. Nasih was right, Persia was a sight fit for a god. The buildings decorated with gold reached up to the heavens with the circular turrets, and their white washed wall gleamed magnificently under the sun. The colours here were also flamboyant, but with more variety. The lack of grubbiness here contrasted with Turkey's port, everything was majestic, grand and regal. Palaces and mosques could be seen all around, and beautiful people wandered past, clad in the most beautiful robes. Christine gasped audibly.

"Ahh, now this, _this_ is home." Nasih said as he breathed in heavily. He almost ran from the station, dragging Christine with him. He spent over an hour just pointing out things to Christine, who spent the same amount of times grabbing Nasih's arm and asking him questions about the amazing sights she could see before her. They almost soothed her eyes which had been so scalded by bad images in her past. And although she missed France terribly, this was a world of dreams, and she wished she could stay here longer. But Nasih had already begun to take her away from the city centre, towards the poorer areas of Tehran. She saw sights that were not as pleasing as before. Children and the old forced to beg in rags, who Christine had given money to after forcing an unwilling Nasih to turn his pockets out.

"You know, Christine, you can't help by giving some money to just those beggars. You give some, and they all come after you."

"At least you helped a little." She muttered. She wasn't enjoying this part of Tehran at all, and she wanted to return to the centre. But Nasih kept her walking to the outskirts, where they finally came to a house. Nasih knocked eagerly on the door, and waited, ringing his hands together. Christine was about to ask him were they were, when the old door swung open to reveal a woman. Her eyes widened at the sight before her, and she flung herself into Nasih's chest. He wrapped his arms lovingly around her, and kissed the top of her head fondly. She muttered something in Persian to him, and he talked back, his voice, Christine heard, breaking with emotion. The woman wept with happiness and to Christine's surprise, lifted herself up onto her tiptoes and kissed Nasih lovingly. He returned the kiss, clutching her to him. Christine stood with her eyebrows raised in shock.

"Christine," Nasih said, eyes shimmering. "This is my wife, Hessia." He seemed oblivious to Christine's shocked face, and spoke to his wife in Persian, pointing Christine as he did so. She seemed to look a little confused, then frowned, then nodded, in a general acceptance. She held Christine's slender hands and bowed into them.

"Please." She spoke in rough English, which Christine understood. "Please, come in to us home."

Nasih moved towards the door, allowing Christine to enter before him. She gave him a frown when passing him. He looked down slightly. On entering, she heard the noise of loud shouting and laughter. Nasih moved past her in the entrance parlour, and moved into one of the tiny rooms. His entrance was greeted with screams of joy and squealing. Hessia, Nasih's wife, lead Christine smiling into the same room. She saw Nasih covered head to toe in children. Hugging, kissing, and pouncing on him from all directions. There must have been around 9 or 10. Christine couldn't help but smile as Nasih hugged and kissed them all lovingly, and introduced Christine to them all. Nabil, Amin, Habiba, Henia, Lemis, Jalila, Nadir, Emir and others she couldn't pronounce. They all bowed politely to Christine, smiling happily that their father had come home.

They had spent the night at Nasih's house, having a large meal that Hessia had prepared for them as soon as they arrived. There were a lot of exotic foods, and Christine waffled it down hungrily, as she had not eaten properly since she had left the boat at Turkey. Hessia beamed at Christine who seemed to enjoy the food, a great sign of respect to the household. The children had also taken a shine to Christine, and wanted her to play with them. Although she could not understand them, children have their own language of play, and she could easily interact through actions. She had them laughing like maniacs after some of the games she played with them, ones she had played with her father and Raoul as a child herself. Nasih and Hessia had disappeared for a while as Christine was with the children.

The next day, a carriage was waiting out side the small apartment like house. Christine leaned out of the window to see Nasih saying goodbye to his children, who wept loudly. She rushed down the stairs to the courtyard outside, where Hessia stood, silently weeping into her hands. The children clung to their father, whose face was twisted into silent grief of leaving his family behind once again. Christine was still groggy from waking up so quickly, yet was awaked suddenly by the children leaping on her, and shouting their goodbyes. One of the youngest girls brought a chain of jasmine for Christine, and she hung it around her neck. Christine felt choked and felt tears welling up for the children. She gave the little girl her gloves she had kept from her old travelling dress, stitched with tiny white flowers. The young girl squealed with delight and put the over sized gloves on comically. Nasih was saying a long goodbye to Hessia as Christine climbed into the rickshaw cab. He emptied the last of his money into her hands, and kissed her tenderly. She closed her eyes at her husbands kiss, and Christine felt a wave of jealously spread over her. She turned away and looked into the carriage. Nasih at last climbed into the carriage, and it pulled away. The children ran along side it for what seemed hours, skipping and laughing, and they threw make shift balls to their father, who leaned out the window to catch, then threw back again. Soon, the distance and speed became too far for the children to keep up with, and their cheery faces soon disappeared into the distance. Nasih sat back and sighed, tears settling in his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Christine asked. She had a look of annoyance in her eyes. Nasih frowned. "I didn't think it mattered." He said back. His eyes were distant, obviously not concentrating on what Christine had said.

"What do you mean, 'it didn't matter'! " Her voice grew in anger. "You think your family don't matter?" She was getting angry with Nasih, and she hardly knew why. Nasih was brought back to reality by her sharp tone. He looked at her hurt face. He knew exactly why he didn't tell her. Because of the hurt he saw right now in her eyes.

"I never told you," He said in almost a whisper. "Because I thought it inappropriate."

"You think I can't handle it? Is that what it is?" She sneered. Nasih suddenly frowned at Christine and raised his voice.

"Mademoiselle, do not make the mistake that you are the only one with feelings!" He said harshly. "I find it just as hard to talk about loss as you do. Please just put an end to you self obsession!"

Christine felt like he had just punched her in the stomach. She looked shocked at him for a long time, and he glared at her. He moved his eyes quickly to the door window, where feelings of regret met him. He wished he hadn't said that. He didn't mean it; she had every right to feel sorry for herself. Why was he so harsh? After a long period of silence, he finally turned to her.

"Christine, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

"No." She interrupted. "I'm sorry. Your right, I am being selfish."

"Christine, that's not true, I meant I was…"

"Nasih," She leaned over and held his hand. "I was jealous of your family. I was jealous of your happiness. But I know it comes at a price. I have experienced joys you may not know, and you the same, but we still share loss of some sort. I was wrong to be cross."

Nasih smiled sadly at her truthful features. He nodded without replying, and once again they sat in silence. Hours past in silence, and Christine was beginning to feel sick. The nerves were in her mouth now, and she could hardly speak without her voice shaking. Her hands trembled terribly on her lap. All the sights she had seen, and all the feelings she had experienced were not as terrifying as this moment was. Nasih was leaning out of the window every now and again and checking his watch. She bit her nails, and fiddled with her veil. Sometimes she bent over, clutching her stomach at the sickening feeling that was overtaking her senses. Nothing could have prepared her for the moment the carriage came to a halt.

"We're here."

Nasih climbed out the carriage into the sunset light road. He offered her a hand. Christine felt her head go dizzy and her legs felt like jelly. She trembled all over, and her breathing had become shallow. She tried to close her eyes and rid the feelings, but nothing would ease the feeling she got as the first laid eyes of Erik's home.


	11. The worst Scenario

The entrance gates were shut tight with the rapidly growing darkness. Nasih looked solemn as he walked towards them. Christine stayed glued to the spot. She could not move her legs. She feared if she did, she would defiantly fall. They trembled terribly, and her head was fit to burst. If she could muster the strength, she would run. Nasih called out through the gates, and was greeted by a man who left a small guard post to talk to Nasih from the inside. He talked a while with the man, who had quickly swung the gates open when he had recognised Nasih. The two men talked rapidly, obviously Nasih wanted to move away quickly, as he cast glances back to Christine, who had now adopted a look of pure terror on her face. Nasih moved to reach out to her. He took her arm slowly, and very gently tried to pull her towards the large silluetted house in the distance, through the palm trees of the grounds. Christine reacted to the tug sharply. She twisted from his grip and tried to run back the gates. Nasih grabbed her, and was met by her tears cascading down her face. The guard watch worriedly, and Nasih said something to him, making the guard retreat hesitantly into his guard hut.

"Where are you planning to run to?" Nasih asked exasperated. Christine tried to wriggle from his grip again, but he was too strong.

"I don't know!" She cried. "I just know I can't go in there! I CAN'T!"

"We've come too far to just turn away now!" Nasih shouted back. "Don't you understand? This may be the only safety haven you have left!"

"No…no, he doesn't want me… its too late." She muttered to herself. Nasih became frustrated and shook her, like he had done all those weeks back in Paris.

"Christine, please! I don't want to see you hurt!" The sudden compassion in his voice brought her to her senses. She looked at him through tear glazed eyes for a while. He was breathing heavy, and was watching her with a look of pleading imprinted in his features. She finally gave in to his grip, and he led her down the long path, towards her fate, towards her past, towards her fear and happiness. She was not going to survive this, she thought to herself. She wanted nothing more than to be home with her father. Home. Where was that anymore? She didn't have a home. Her home lay with her heart, which was now angry with her for putting it through such trauma. It banged heavily on her chest in annoyance and frustration. Every step counted for at least 5 heartbeats, and Christine felt an enormous sense of nausea. The house loomed towards them, glittering magnificently in the sunset behind it. It was not as big as the De Changey residence, but it met its match in grandeur. If Christine had not have been so reluctant to enter, she would have seen it was the most beautiful house she had every witnessed in her life. She had tightened her grip on Nasih's arm, making whimpering noises now. She was shaking so much that Nasih felt worried sick about her. He tried to calm her by putting an arm around her shoulders, but it just gave her a backing which she could try to restrain herself from taking another step. On arriving at the doors, she felt so sick, she actually threw up at the side. Nasih rubbed her back as she did, holding her veil out of the way. She stood, tears just pouring freely from her eyes. He gave her a final look before knocking on the door. Christine looked at the panel of the door, seeing roses and dancers, instruments and notes beautifully carved like the music she knew he could produce, caressed with love and care. She wished she could admire it, but her mind her clouded over, seeing stars in front of her eyes. She hardly noticed the door being swung open by a maid, who looked anxiously at Christine, who was a nasty shade of green by this time. Nasih supported her as she stepped into the cool, tiled entrance hall. A small fountain was in the centre, with a calming trickling noise that soothed even the most troubled of souls. But Christine was beyond troubled. The maid spoke to Nasih in Persian once again, casting frightened looks at Christine, who was falling into Nasih's strong grip.

"Christine," Nasih spoke softly. He tried to prop her onto her own feet, but it failed as she buckled under her own weight again. He caught her, and held her tightly. "Christine, I'm going to take you to him. Ok? Are you ready?" She didn't answer. Her mind was a drift in thoughts of terror. He slowly began to move her up the stairs, almost carrying her whole small frame. She was talking to herself, muttering and babbling. Nasih was horrified at what he saw in Christine. What could have happened to reduce someone to this state? He tried not to think about it.

On reaching the landing, he lead her to a corridor of doors and windows. The corridor windows looked onto a courtyard in the centre of the building, where a statue lay centred, unrecognisable in the fading daylight. They moved around the square like building, reaching one of the most highly decorated doors of the house.

"Wait here." Nasih muttered quietly. "Please, Christine." He looked at her, his eyes begging her to remain. She ignored him, but propped herself against the wall next to the door out of view. She was finding it difficult to breathe, and her eyes were wide in terror. Nasih knocked on the door, and Christine suddenly stopped breathing all together, as she heard the one thing she thought she would never hear again.

"Enter."

Erik's voice.

She began to breathe quickly through her nose, so he would not hear her. Her nails were cutting into her hands as she clenched them so much. Nasih had entered the room and left the door slightly ajar. She could hear Nasih muttering quietly for a while, but heard no response from the other party. Suddenly she heard Nasih hesitate, and a low growl of a reply to his silence. She stopped breathing once more, her back pressed completely against the wall in terror. She heard Nasih reply finally. It was greeted by the smashing of glass, and a loud roar which cut right through Christine.

"WHAT?"

That was the final straw. Her legs found their life, and she began to run, ignoring the still throbbing pain in her wounded leg. She ran down the corridors that Nasih had led her down, and came to the top of the stairs. She could hear rapid, loud footsteps coming her way, and she cried in fright. She missed her footing on the marble staircase, and fell painfully down them. She hit the bottom of them with a crack. Her head spun wildly, and she saw spots dancing in front of her eyes. She quickly tried to lift herself up, but felt back down with a greeting of shooting pain through her wrist and arms. She fell on her face with a sob. She lay sobbing into the floor, as she heard the slowing footsteps coming down the stairs. She quietened her cries as the footsteps were now directly behind her. She heard the breathing become heavy with emotion. The steps abruptly stopped, and she lay cowering, her eyes clenched shut in defence of what was about to happen. Seconds felt like hours, and Christine began to think that something terrible was about to happen. Suddenly, she let out a half scream, half gasp, as two strong hands gripped her and turned her over violently on the floor. There he was. Knelt beside her, gripping the tops of her arms aggressively. Her eyes, although tear filled, locked with his dangerously glittering ones. His white mask sat perfectly on his face, and his dark hair fell in disarray after the chase. They held each others gaze for a long time.

"What…" Erik whispered terrifyingly. "…are you doing?"

She was breathing so fast now, she could not answer him. He was terrifying her, and he knew it. He wanted to. He wanted to scare her so much, that she would go. And just make this into another bad dream. Ones were he saw her so often like this, gazing wide eyed, horrified at him. His head spun. Never did he expect to see her here, never. He never expected to see her ever again. Erik shook her violently.

"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!" He roared at her. Christine whimpered in fright, and tried to squirm from his grip.

"I'm… I'm sorry…" She began. He laughed, insanely, frighteningly. Nasih, who was stood on the stair case now, felt his blood turn cold at the laugh.

"You're sorry! Sorry! You're…sorry?" He threw his head back and laughed even more. Nasih made a move past Erik to try and help Christine up, but Erik got to him first. He grabbed Nasih by the neck and slammed him into the wall, making him cry out in pain. Erik let him wriggle there for a moment, enjoying the discomfort the man was in. Nasih tried to hold onto Erik's hand, as he lifted him higher off the floor, choking him.

"How _dare_ you." Erik hissed through gritted teeth. He wanted to kill this man, and was going to take his time about it. Watch him suffer, like he had suffered. "I asked you, I TOLD YOU! I SPECIFICALLY DEMANDED YOU DID NOT BRING HER TO ME! Did I not!" He bellowed.

Nasih tried to cough out a reply, but his air was beginning to fail him. Erik lifted him higher, cutting off his oxygen.

"You will pay for your insolence. You have no _idea_ the damage you have caused!"

"NO!" came a cry. "Please, Erik, don't."

Erik, felt his body go limp. He had not heard her speak his name in a long time. Her pleading tone was enough to make him buckle. He dropped Nasih to the floor, who lay gasping for breath. Erik turned to Christine, who was propped up on her good arm. She held a look of sorrow and begging to him, and Erik felt himself go faint at the sight of her. He wanted her to leave, before he did something stupid. He wanted her to go and never come back. He couldn't cope with her breaking his soul again. He knelt beside her.

"Christine.." His voice broke. She felt her insides flutter at the sound of her name on his lips. It sounded so perfect, heavenly even. She stared into his pain filled eyes.

"Leave." He whispered. "Leave, and don't you dare come back. Do you hear me?" His voice became raised, as her face twisted into despair. "I don't want you near me. Go! Go NOW!"

Christine picked herself up painfully, and ran towards the doors, sobbing violently. She heaved them open, and ran as fast as her legs could take her. She sprinted, hardly seeing were she was going through her hot tears. The beauty of the gardens she ran past looked distant, as if they didn't belong to the world she was in. She got to the gates and began to scream at the guard to open them. He fumbled with the keys in terror at the wild girls ravings, and pulled them open. Christine felt her legs take her to the world outside her terror, but bringing a new sense of terror. Where would she go? What would she do? This didn't matter now, as running was all that she could think of. Running away from the nightmare she had just encountered. The worst scenario, relived for real. She felt her legs turn to putty, her head became clouded. The foreign streets she had run into made her sick and nauseous. Christine finally collapsed out cold in tiredness and despair.


	12. Guilt

"Leave." He whispered. "Leave, and don't you dare come back. Do you hear me?" His voice became raised, as her face twisted into despair. "I don't want you near me. Go! Go NOW!"

Erik screamed at Christine. He watched her scramble up in distress and flee through the large iron doors. He was gasping for breath; his head was swimming from the sudden chase and realization of who had been brought to him. No sooner had he tried to banish Christine from his mind, she was here, in his house, and he had banished her all together from his life.

Nasih had entered Erik's bedroom gingerly. Erik had been sat at a desk, drawing and sketching nothing of importance, and had turned to watch Nasih with a guilt stamped face. He greeted Erik, mumbling, asking how he was. Erik decided not to reply, as Nasih knew perfectly well what he wanted to here. Why was he in Persia and not watching over Christine? He burned holes into Nasih as he stumbled over words to find to explain the situation.

"Master…something…well...it did, it was terrible…something terrible happened."

Erik felt his heart stop. He felt completely helpless and sick. What had happened to her? He would never forgive himself if the damn Vicomte had done anything to her. He would hunt him down and kill him.

"You tell me right now, what happened?" Erik growled at the guilt filled man. He was loosing his patience with him, and made to force the answer out of him, but Nasih replied.

"I…I had no choice! I…I had to bring her…Christine…she's here."

Erik saw red. He was frozen to the spot for a few seconds, before dropping his decanter in shock, sending glass everywhere. He felt uncontrollable rage boiling in his blood, and all he could see was the man responsible, Nasih.

"WHAT!" He roared. Nasih flinched at the man, raging towards him, standing only a few inches taller than he was, but radiating such anger and power that Nasih felt like a bug about to be squashed. They both suddenly heard a scream from outside, and retreating footsteps. Erik's heart stopped. Christine.

He forgot completely about Nasih and burst his bedroom doors open. He spotted the figure in the dark corridor, half limping, half running, or what they could manage in layers of skirts. He pelted after her, his mind racing with thoughts and memories he had tried to forget, and now she had brought them right back with her presence.

He saw the figure falter at the staircase, and tumble down, tripping in panic. For a fleeting moment, he felt worried. Worried that she had hurt herself. But it was soon over when he saw her cowering at the foot of the stairs.

Her curls where falling out of the tied bun and her skirts and dark veils of muslin in disarray. She was almost crying, but Erik didn't hear. All he could hear were the demons in his head wishing her gone, wishing her to get up and run further. Away from him, away from Persia, and back to her lover. The thought of Raoul brought anger to his heart, and he flipped her over aggressively.

Why had she come to him? Wasn't it enough for her that she had destroyed him as someone with a soul? Did she want to rub it into his face one more time that her precious husband was not him? No, he would not let her; he would not allow previous feelings for her to stand in the way this time. Christine was no longer a part of his life. She was a bad nightmare, retreating away on a gondolier, clutching to her fiancée, leaving him to die in his tomb under the Opera.

And there she was again, running from him. She held that look of fear she had every time he saw her in a nightmare. The nightmares were he would reveal his face to her and she would squirm in disgust and run. His heart was breaking once more. He did not deserve this.

Erik collapsed on the cool floor, head in hands. He did not cry, but gasped heavily. He could not straighten his feelings. Anger, hatred, remorse, despair…guilt? He suddenly stopped. His mind had just pulled something from the deep darkness that he had tried to repress so much that it had been a dark hole in his heart for a long time. A promise. A promise that led to the hiring of Nasih, a promise that he had just broken by sending Christine fleeing from him.

He had promised to live for Christine's safety.

He leaped up with amazing speed, and bolted towards his door.

Erik ran blindly out of his grounds and through his gates. It was dusk by this time, and light was scarce at this time of night, although he gave no care to who saw him now. All that he could think of was his self hatred. What had he done? No matter what she had done to him, he could not let her die. He had to know she was safe. It was one of the reasons she had let her leave him with that bastard Vicomte.

The streets were hard to navigate at this time of night, but Erik kept running. He turned as little as possible, remembering Christine's remorse state, and knowing she would not have known where to run. He felt sick for ever making her feel like that. He bellowed her name a few times when searching, until finally, he came to a complete stop. There, in the middle of a dust filled path was a black clad figure, sprawled across the floor.


	13. Unwanted encounter

Christine had followed the sweet song she could hear from so far away. It was soft and pleasant, making her smile slightly. As she opened her eyes, the song gave way to drumming. A terrible hammering drum in her head. She clenched her eyes shut once more, throwing her hands over her eyes in defence from the strong sun pouring through the window. Her thoughts were not in focus yet, and she could not remember a thing. She pulled up material that was draped over her, up over her head to block out the rays. She groaned in pain as her wrist throbbed violently like her head. Her leg felt none the better when she tried to turn over. She eventually opened her eyes to see she was in a beautiful room. She was lying in an ivory white bed with terracotta décor finely detailed around the rim. The walls were decorated the same, with matching shutters that were wide open, framing the morning sky with cream drapes, billowing softly in the breeze. The song she had heard in her sleep was the birds outside her window, calling cheerily. She sat up awkwardly to see she had been undressed to a simple nightgown, and her black clothes hung over a wicker chair in the corner of the room.

Christine sat bolt upright at this point. The image of her old clothes brought back the horrifying last images that had remained with her in her black out. She jumped out of the lavishly comfortable bed, and limped over to the window. There, she saw the path leading up to the house she was in, the same path she had walked up that terrible night with Nasih, now lit perfectly to reveal the beautiful gardens below, and the iron gates in the distance.

She gasped in fright, throwing her good hand over her mouth. Her face twisted into a terrified frown. She turned to run, and was greeted by a squeal as she ran into someone. A woman, middle aged and matching her climate in features, grabbed her as Christine spun into her.

"Whoops!" She smiled. Christine looked in shock at the woman, who held her arms. "Madame, I am not so ugly as you face tells me, I am?" She smiled kindly, talking in her accented French. Christine shook her head.

"Why…why am I here? I need to leave…"

"No no, you will do no such thing. You will lie here," She was guiding Christine back to her bed. ", and you will rest. You have been very tired."

"No please…" Christine tried to resist, but she felt too weak to protest. The woman helped her back into the soft furnishings of the bed, and threw the covers back over her. Christine felt herself go faint. He was going to kill her if he knew she was still here. But why was she back here?

"My name is Hadjira, and you can call me for anything, Madame, ok? Oh, no, no, Madame, please don't fiddle with that."

She was referring to Christine now plucking at the strapping she had tightly bandaged to her wrist, the one that felt so sore.

Just a sprain, Madame, but keep it on all the same."

Christine felt anxious, and needed questions answering. She opened her mouth to ask the lady, yet a knock came on the bedroom door. Christine squealed and brought the covers up to her face in terror. The woman ignored her and opened the door, glancing around it before hand.

"Nasih, please come in."

Nasih entered the room, allowing way for the maid to get past him, leaving Christine and him alone. He shut the door softly, and turned to look at Christine. He held a very particular expression. It was that of guilt and…was it pity? He walked solemnly to the wicker chair were Christine's clothes were hanging. She watched him closely as he sat slowly, letting out a sigh. He pulled out a cigarette, lighting and taking a long pull back.

"How are you feeling?" He muffled through the cigarette. She ignored this question.

"What have…am I doing here?" She almost whispered. Nasih sighed as he stared at the floor for a long time. He finally raised his head and answered, after another pull of his cigarette.

"You've been out for two days." He muttered. "I was worried."

"Nasih!" She said louder. He frowned, and she gave him a stern, but begging look.

"You…you were found in a street a mile away from here. You collapsed in exhaustion, doctors have been around to check on you, don't worry."

"Who…who brought me back?"

Nasih stared into her questioning gaze.

"He did."

She sobbed slightly, and looked down into the beautiful silk coverings of the bed. Her head was throbbing even harder now, despite the tranquil nature of the room. She listened to the rest of Nasih's story.

"He…after you ran, he…I don't know…remembered something, I don't know. But he ran after you, and came back with you about an hour later. I…I don't know what happened really."

Christine had soon noticed the deep coloured bruises on Nasih's neck. Bruises that were darkly shaped like a hand print. He reacted to her frown by shifting his collar higher.

"I'm so sorry." She sobbed, tears welling once more. He shook his head in reply, but looked sorrowful. He felt his pain only for Christine.

Christine felt so guilty for putting this man through so much on her behalf. He had even been in France because of her. She wept into her hands over the children he had left, the wife he had abandoned, all for the money for looking over Christine. And what for? So Erik could waste his time by casting her out? She actually began to fear anger overtaking her sadness. She clenched her good fist and pounded it on the bed.

"If he was so concerned for my safety, why cast me out after hiring you to look after me? Nasih, I'm sorry, you should never…never have had to see any of this. I will pay you for your trouble as soon as I can."

She spoke little sense to Nasih. He could not deny that money played the most important role in his being here, but now things had changed, and the situation was far more complicated than he dreamed. He knew he had explaining to do on his behalf, and not to Christine.

Christine had got out of bed again, and was making for the door. A new sense of anger had taken over her. A little for her own sake, but mostly about Nasih's involvement in all this. She would not allow it. But before she could open the door, Nasih had jumped in front of it.

"Christine, I wouldn't. Please don't…"

"Nasih, let me past, I have to…"

"No, he…he doesn't want to see you. He wished you stay here…to stay from him."

Her heart panged painfully for a second. What was that feeling she was experiencing? She didn't want to admit it, but she felt a tiny sense of selfishness. He had once loved her, and wanted nothing more than to see her. Now he could deny that. Christine felt guilty instantly for ever thinking like that. Why shouldn't he turn her away, after what she had done? Had she forgot the moments of depression she had spent in the De Changey house, knowing this was exactly how he felt about her now But now what? Was she to spend the rest of her days hiding in this room, away from danger, but away from Erik also?

Christine turned away from the door in despair. She kicked over the chair Nasih had just been sitting on violently, screaming at the same time in sadness and anger. Nasih tried to calm her, and held onto her shoulders as she struggled and kicked. He took her thrashes, and held her as she cried into his chest. Nasih frowned as he stroked her hair soothingly, waiting for her tears to subside, as he had done so many times before.

- --

Days past, some overcast, but most full of the strong Eastern sunshine. Christine had wandered out of the room every now and again, going to the beautiful kitchens to ask for something to eat during the night, after she had made sure Erik was no going to be around. She admired the amazing structure that had been built like a labyrinth. There were so many corridors and rooms to turn off too, so many turrets she could see from her bedroom window that she had yet to find a doorway to, impossibly hidden, rather like the labyrinth that had lay under the Opera House. She had noticed also, that like the Opera, the house was kept in darkness. It was cooler than her bedroom, which had been opened up to let sunlight in, but the rest of the rooms had heavy drapes, hiding the sun away from the interior. She had seen little of the sunlight apart from in her room; she was beginning to feel oppressed.

Christine finally got up the courage to make her way down that long corridor to 'those' stairs, to 'that' door. She wanted to wander through the gardens that had been so well kept from her bedroom window; it seemed a waste to not admire it. She changed into her former black clothes purchased in Turkey, and opened her room door. She peered anxiously down the dark corridor, listening carefully for any movement. Nasih was not here to help her this day. He explained to her he had been sent away by Erik for a few days, and did not explain any further. She had felt nervous being here without him, but she had soon found a confine in Hadjira, the maid who had been service to her for the past few days. She found her extremely pleasant, and cheering her mood on occasion, yet she had refused to speak of her master full stop. She seemed afraid, as Christine would see her avoid her eyes every time she would ask her about Erik.

As she tiptoed quietly down the corridor, and around the corner, she came to a flight of staircases, two, and then another long corridor. As she past through the darkness, she thought of Erik. She thought of him in his rage, in his eyes she had seen pure hatred and anger. That was what had scared her the most. Not his rage, but the lack of admiration she had once known him to always have for her. She had been so afraid of seeing him now that she could not trust him to not harm her. She had seen his aggressive nature to those he did not care for, and now she was one of them. She was of no use to him anymore. A sob came to her mouth at this thought. She wanted to cry, surprisingly to herself. She had always known he would react in this way. Why did she half expect different?

These thoughts vanished as she approached the familiar corridor, where the largest of doors lay in the centre. She held her breath as she moved silently towards them. She was sure anyone behind the door would be able to hear her heart slamming against her chest noisily. She tried to ignore the screams in her head for her to turn back. She slid past the door, keeping her front always to the door, her back facing away. When she had finally past the door, she jogged the rest of the way. The front doors looked a little less threatening in the sunshine. Christine's eyes throbbed under the hot sun, but she still moved forward into it. She closed the door over; leaving it open slightly so she could let herself in again. When she stopped squinting in the new bright day, she looked around into the gardens. To the right of the paths, flowers of exotic colours and smells looked heavenly. She moved over towards them, putting her face down to a few and breathing in their amazing scents. Some flowers reached right up to her chest, and she ran her arm out to brush past them. There she saw in the centre, on its own, a large fountain. It was of stone colour and texture, but astounding in detail and carved to perfection. Roses crowed the base of he fountain which lay at knee level, holding sparkling clear water. Its sprouts were even more magnificent. Despite the smaller details of instruments, cherubs, birds and exotic animals, the main feature took Christine's breath away. A beautiful long haired statue held a harp, full of exquisite detail, her face held nobility and intelligence. To the right of her, a dancer, obvious through her flowing costume and her raised leg, graceful like ballet, her arms outstretched. The final statue, and the most finely concentrated, was a singer. Christine marvelled at her recognition of this by the beautiful girls features, her mouth slightly parted, her relaxed pose, and her distant look of her stony eyes. Christine felt on edge at the eerie resembelence to her curls, which cascaded down the statues back and shoulders. Christine looked away quickly. She looked back over the other side, towards the left of the house. It was full of trees, going deeper than the flowered side. It seemed to go one for a long time, full of palm trees and other foreign foliage. She enjoyed the shade from the harsh sun, and touched every tree she past, taking her sandal's from her feet and treading through the dry, but well kept grass. It was tranquil and calm, yet Christine found it difficult to quieten the demons in her head. She wandered aimlessly, trying to rid thoughts of what awaited in her future. She toyed with the idea of leaving on her 19th birthday, back to Europe, where she would take her inheritance, and leave this place for good. But for the moment, it was the one good hiding place she had felt she could be safe. Now, she had begun to doubt it.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a distant tapping noise. She stopped and listened curiously. It was coming from the left of her, more near to the house. She had walked in a circle, so must have been not too far from it. She followed the noise curiously, and heard it become louder and louder, growing in force and clearness. It sounded rhythmic, like hammering. Iron on some other material. She wondered where this could be coming from in a secluded garden, when she finally came to a clearing. The sun shone heavily on the house she could see towering over the palm tree tops not to far in the distance, but here, it shone on another building. It was small, backing off a larger one, which looked like stables. It was made of wood, unlike the house which was white washed mottle. She curiously sniffed the air to find it smelt of wood shavings and burning. She moved a little closer, careful as not to stray in sight of the door, which was slightly ajar. She walked stealthily, dropping her sandals to slip them on again. She felt the air become heavy, and her head began to pound under the heavy rays of the eastern sun. She wished to be in the shade, so made her way more quickly to the door. It was dark inside the wooden hut, and very hot. She could make out an open fire while peering in through the door, which surprised her a lot. It was the middle of the day, in a blazing hot country, who would have a fire going? She realized it was a smith house, and so an open fire for craft work would have been necessary. She stepped into the hut and glanced around, it was larger than she had expected, holding different rooms, boarded by wooden walls, the hut spilling into the stables at the back of the hut. She could now hear the loud strikes of a hammer clearly now, and she held her hands slightly over her ears at the noise. She moved her way through the bricks and stray pieces of wood, the crafts and statues that lay littered around the hot furnace. She wiped her head which was glistening in the sweltering heat. She fanned herself with her hand quickly, trying to shift to make herself cooler. Something caught her attention as she did this. It was a hand. A stone hand, perfectly structured, yet with a crack down the centre obviously abandoned due to the split. It held something which Christine did not recognise at first. She picked up the small figurine, and turned it over in her own petite hands. There, was a stone rose, perfect, clasped lightly in the stone grip. She dropped it in shock. It smashed horrifyingly to the ground, and Christine clasped her hand over her mouth to stop her screaming. The hammering stopped abruptly, and she could hear shuffling. She spun around, not wanting to see the man see now realised this hut was inhabited by. She tried to leap clumsily over the large planks of wood and stone, hurting her legs as she did so. She cast glances back in fright, but not seeing anyone behind her. As she reached the door, she looked behind her once last time, her heart racing. Nothing. She stood listening for while, more scared at what she couldn't see to what she could. Her hand was resting on the door handle, and it was jerked away suddenly by the door shutting abruptly. She jumped as the door slammed out of her grip, feeling like someone had shut it for her. Spinning round, she gasped at the inevitable sight.


	14. Heart vs Head

Erik stood with his arm outstretched over the door, keeping it shut. He wasn't looking at her, rather looking downwards. She backed away slowly from him, stumbling slightly. How could she have been so stupid! She cursed herself for ever having a curious nature. His eyes slowly rose to her. They glittered hypnotising her, flashing with menace. He was clad in just working trousers and a loose white cotton shirt. His white mask sat perfectly on his face, showing his eyes, reflecting the flames in the room. He looked like the devil himself. Christine felt her mouth go dry.

"So, are you going to explain why you insist on…_entertaining_ me with your presence?" He said, unnervingly calmly. She swallowed nervously. She was so close to him, she could see the laboured beads of sweat on his visible forehead. He was breathing heavy, and every step she took backwards, he took one forwards. She whimpered slightly, and he let out a nasty grin.

"That's it?" He mocked. "You came to show me you were afraid? You came all this way just to show me that?" He surprisingly bowed slightly, never taking his eyes from her face.

"Well Madame, I am honoured."

He pushed past her roughly after a few moments of staring. He retreated around a wooden screen panel, and she could hear him returning to his work. She had been unable to think clearly in his presence. She was terrified of him, and the strange thing was, it was still because of the strange grip he still had on her. Now she saw him in light, unlike the first encounter, he seemed all the more intimidating, yet all the more familiar. She recalled times when the man, who made her fall with his pushing past her, had held her like a china doll, careful as not to break her with one abrupt motion or word. She gulped back her tears.

"It's…its Mademoiselle." She called back to him timidly. She heard the shuffling of his work stop. He appeared once more, making her heart shudder slightly, with which emotion she did not know. He gave her a venomous look.

"I don't care." He growled. Christine now let the tears bubble to the surface. Why was he being so cruel? She had been through enough to shatter a weaker heart, and now he was trying to break it even more. She felt the familiar anger arise with her tears, which spilt over as he turned his back away from her.

"How…How _dare _you!" She spluttered. He turned to her with a look of amusement and shock He crossed his broad arms, awaiting her speech silently. She faltered slightly, but found courage from somewhere. "I…I have travelled half way across the globe! I almost died! I watched R…I saw people close to me shot dead! I had no choice…I…I had to come here…"

Erik had his eyes narrowed at this point. The look of amusement remained, yet the shock had turned to fury.

"I gave my world to someone once," He almost whispered, walking towards her as he did. "I died a thousand deaths for them. I endured the worst pain. I watched…" He was directly in front of her now. "…the closest person I had, _kill_ me. And you still think you had to come here? You still think you had to remind me of what I am to you?" She shook her head in silent protest, but he ignored her. "I would rather you sulk back to where you came from, and stay there."

Christine snapped. "Then why did you bring me back!" She screamed. "Why did you send Nasih to watch over me? Do I really not mean that much to you anymore?"

Christine saw anger flash through his eyes, but he hesitated on replying. He snarled at her and turned away.

Erik had tried convincing himself that he now hated Christine. Hating her for leaving him, hating her for cutting out his heart. He wanted her to feel so unwanted that she would just leave him alone. He could force her out, but damn god, he could not do that to her. Why? Because of why he hated her so. Because he still loved her.

But he was not about to let that come between how he wanted to feel about her. He repressed the feelings, but now, she was bringing up questions he had tried for so long to answer himself. Why couldn't he just leave her be? The same reason why she couldn't to him? Now that was just hopeful, ridiculous wishful thinking.

"Why won't you answer!" She yelled at him. She was going to drag it out of him, why he wouldn't turn to her when she spoke of such things, why he wouldn't see her, why he had turned her away, and then brought her back so quickly. She needed answers, and pushing him was the only way she was going to get any.

"Erik…Erik, please! I need you to tell me! Don't walk away when I…"

"Christine, SHUT UP!" He grabbed her wrist, her good one fortunately, as it was a terribly strong grip. He tightened it, making her moan in pain. She thought she saw an angry tear slip down behind his mask.

"Christine! I…When I see you, I feel nothing…nothing! Do you understand? I don't know why you came to me, and I really don't care anymore! Just stay out of my way, and don't come snooping around here again! Go…go back to the house, Christine."

His voice became softer towards the end of speaking, but this was because of the crestfallen face Christine had taken on. She looked as he felt, her face twisted in pain, maybe not from his grip. Her beautiful eyes radiated the magnificent sorrow he could hardly bear in his own heart, let alone hers.

She twisted from his grip and ran from the hut. For once, she was not crying. She ran in a state of realisation. Her heart felt like someone had cut a huge slice out of it. She now knew how it felt for Erik. How it felt to be completely heartbroken.

- --

Dull and bright days past, and Christine had not left her room. She had shut herself in, only letting Hadjira the maid in to give her food. Every night she had cried herself to sleep, waking the next day with a terrible headache, and spending the day in bed. She became so lethargic; she hardly got out of the bed at all. Her hair was straggly, and her eyes were constantly swollen. Sometimes she couldn't even bring herself to eat the food that was brought for her. Her mind had slipped right back into its darkness, like it was in Paris. All she had was her memories, which were becoming sour.

One night, she heard a horse coming down the path towards the house. She didn't get up to see, but she listened carefully, as it was the one visitor she had heard since her own arrival. Yet, despite the danger she could have been in, she quickly dismissed it, and dozed in a depressed state, letting more tears stain her grubby face.

Nasih dismounted from his horse, and knocked on the door. A maid answered, and he requested someone take leave of his horse to the stables. On entering the dark entrance hall, he climbed up stairs and turned down corridors, to go to the room which he dreaded. He gritted his teeth as he lifted a fist, to rap lightly on the iron frame.

The door shifted slightly, and a warm, soft glow poured into the shadows of the corridor. A large frame blocked the light source instantly, and it moved out of the room. He shut the door behind him.

"Well?" He growled in monotone.

"Nothing."

Erik sighed. Some of the weight on his chest was lifted for a moment. But he still did not feel any gratitude towards the man in front of him. He gave him a murderous look, before turning to enter his room once more.

"I had to do it, Sir." Nasih spoke up in Persian this time. Erik turned, his jaw locked, restraining himself against the door frame, knowing that one wrong word of this man would mean death. Erik had no patience to speak of.

"No…You didn't." He almost yelled, but caught himself at the last second, not wanting servants to over hear the conversation. "You knew my instruction, any danger, you protect her. I'm sure her Vicomte husband, or apparently, her fiancée," He remembered Christine mentioning she was still Mademoiselle. He had told her he didn't care, but his lies did not fool his heart. It had jumped slightly, ever wondering why. ", was there to look after her. You did _not_ have to bring her here." This was something else Erik had wondered about. Why had the Vicomte not come looking for Christine? Surely he had no give his consent to send Christine to him. Erik saw the grim look on Nasih's face.

"Sir…The Vicomte de Changey was…he was killed. He was shot by intruders in his house looking for Christine."

Erik froze. Raoul was dead? He did not know what emotion was gripping him first. But one thing that surprised him the most was the lack of pleasure he had from hearing this.

A few months ago, he had threatened to kill him himself. He loathed the man to the core of his soul. He had almost killed him the moment he saw him touch Christine. The only reason he had let Christine leave with that particular man, was because he knew that she loved him, and because she could be safe with him. But he could not comprehend that another man could love Christine has much as Erik did, but if Christine saw it, then what could he do? He had to let her go. And now, through his actions, she was now in even more danger.

Erik began to breathe deeply, verging on hysterical rage. Rage with no one but himself. In a flash, he had shoved past Nasih, and was running towards the room which he had given for Christine to stay in. On arriving at the door, he stopped. He looked at the floor for a few seconds. What was he doing? He had already succeed pushing Christine away, no matter how much it tore at his heart, but now, he could not carry on. Not when his angel had been torn from happiness. And yet, why should he feel like this? Hadn't she left him torn the same way she was now? Erik spun around from the door, growling. Then again…He stopped once more. His head and heart raged a war against each other, sending reason and hope up in arms.

His decision finally came to a conclusion. He cursed himself, and flung open her door.

He was surprised to see Hadjira sat by Christine's bed, clutching the girls hand feverishly. She looked terrified at Erik as he stormed in, and then cast a worried glance back over to Christine. She looked terrible. Her complexion had turned a ghastly white, and beads of sweat lingered on her forehead. She was not asleep, but tossing, as if she was in pain. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she muttered silent nothings through her darkened state.

"She's been like this for a while." Hadjira muttered. Erik paced slowly around the bed, never taking his eyes from Christine's face. He stood watching in horror for awhile before looking to the maid.

"Leave." He demanded. She gave him a worried look, but slowly picked herself up. She hesitated.

"Sir…"

"It was not a request." He said through clenched teeth. She gave another look to Christine before shutting the doors behind her.

Hadjira ran to find the one person she knew she could confined in. Nasih. She found him smoking on the patio courtyard in the centre of the house.

"Nasih, praise Allah, I found you." She shook. He frowned and stood up to hold her hands as she spoke rapidly. "The master…he….oh my, he demanded I left!"

"What, he fired you?" Nasih said in shock.

"No, no, he told me to leave Christine alone…alone with him!" She explained whispering, but hysterically. Her eyes were wide with fright, and she clung to Nasih's hands strongly.

Nasih thought for a moment, and patted one of her hands.

"You know, Hadjira, I think it might be ok."

"What!" She shouted this time. "He's a lunatic, you know that!"

"And he loves her." Nasih said flatly. Hadjira gave him a shocked a questioning look. He sighed, and sat her down in the chair he was previously. "I know, Hadjira, that he will not harm her. You can see it in both their eyes; they both would die for each other."

"Not harm her, like he wouldn't harm you?" She raised an eyebrow. Nasih felt the dull pain in his neck reacting to her words. He looked down.

"I gave him reason." He explained. "I do believe I have faith in the man yet. Don't worry."

But Hadjira could do nothing but worry. Christine was ill and defenceless, and she had just let a man in her room alone. A man who she didn't trust at all with anyone alone. He had scared her the day she had took one of the maid jobs. He paid his staff well over what any lord did in Persia, yet, Hadjira wasn't surprised that he did. Any less, and the staff would have left along time ago.

That night she wandered by Christine's room a few times, listening and watching for something suspicious. In the morning, she had timidly entered the room with a small knock. She got no answer, yet she peeped he head in, and saw the room as she had left it. Just Christine lying in her bed, sleeping, the windows open, with a soft, refreshing breeze cooling the room. One way she hadn't left it thought, was with a small smile that had appeared on Christine's lips.


	15. Because of You

- --

Erik took up the chair next to the bed, where the maid had been sitting. He sat slowly, watching Christine toss and turn, frowning and flaying her arms slightly. He put his hands to his mouth, before reaching out, almost nervously, to take hold of her hand. He stretched out his fingers, and he felt his mind screaming. _Don't do it! Run, run and leave her here, she will be fine without you! You idiot!_ He staggered his breathing slightly, his stretch hesitating. He felt his heart sink as Christine turned to him, her eyes still closed, but furrowed into a deep frown. He saw tears fall from her once innocence filled eyes, the ones that had watched him admiringly as he sang to her. He let a small cry of anguish escape his lips. He grabbed both her hands, and felt their softness in-between his own worked rough ones. He watched her still tossing, head rolling from side to side, as he stroked her hands, trailing upwards slightly along the width of her arm. He was torturing himself, yet he knew he could not leave her in this state. He couldn't ignore the pain she was going through, no matter what may happen to him. He slid from the chair, and knelt on the floor, leaning over closer to her. He felt her head, which was like flame, although she lay shivering.

Erik pulled the wet cloth from the bowl on the side table, and mopped her head. She reacted to the cool sensation, lessening her movements, and her breathing steadied slowly after a while. He patiently watched as she did continue to whimper, and tears still fell from her eyes. He felt his heart rench. How could he have been so cruel to her? His angel, he told her he didn't want her. What a lie that was. Although he wished her gone to mend his broken heart and dreams, in his deepest wish, he still yearned for her love. He looked into her angelic face. He still loved her.

"Oh Christine, why do you torment me so?" He whispered. Tears gathered in his eyes as he climbed onto the bed with her, being careful not to make sudden movements in fear of waking her. He slid one arm under her frame, lifting her slightly, and put another arm protectively around her, pulling her into his chest. He breathed slowly, so she would breathe steady with him. He felt her instinctively move into the warmth of his body, and his heart skipped beats. He lay with her for a long time, not daring to make another move. As hours past, he could here her now breathing steadily, and her whimpering and muttering had died down. He let out a silent sigh of relief, and looked down at her. Her tears had stopped, and her body temperature was beginning to normal. But Erik could not find the strength to pull himself from her. He lay a little longer, watching her sleep. How many times had he imagined holding her as she slept safely with him, both of them happy and loving? How many times had he been woken from this dream cruelly, and pulled back to reality. Finding himself alone, under the cold, dripping stone of the Opera foundations. More times than he could remember. He cuddled her more closely.

"Christine," He half whispered, half sang. "Why does fate mock me?" Tears ran down his face, falling onto Christine's head. "I'm sorry and I'm sorry I can't say this to you while you are awake. Christine…"

Finally, Erik shifted her weight onto the bed. He lifted himself from the bed, and pulled covers up over her small form. She shivered slightly from the loss of his body heat. He knelt down once more, to push a few curls from her face. She was so beautiful. Maybe God was punishing the devil for harbouring one of his angels…

Erik felt himself draw nearer to Christine, her head resting softly now on the pillows. He stopped directly in front of her face. He could feel her breathing. He lifted a hand to her face and stroked a perfect cheek. Pulling down his fingers, he let them linger on her lips, slightly parted in sleep.

"Goodnight Christine…" Audible to no one but her and himself. He stood up, still watching her, and left the room.

Christine fluttered her eyes open as he shut the doors. She let a small smile creep across her face, and she fell back into a more pleasant sleep

- --

Christine sat up in bed that morning, eating her breakfast hungrily. Hadjira had set about searching for clothes for her to wear, as Christine had asked if she could get out for a while.

"Are you sure this is wise, Miss?" Hadjira asked, frowning. "You were not very well yesterday."

"I feel much better." She smiled, still looking tired. "I would like a little fresh air; I think it may do me good."

Hadjira had asked Nasih if it would be ok for Christine to explore outside the houses grounds for a while, under her supervision. Nasih had looked a little flustered by this, but Christine had insisted she would be ok. Hadjira had picked out an outfit for Christine of deep red, almost bordering on black. It had a dark, nearly see through veil, which Christine thought fitting to keep her safety up. Nasih had agreed to this, and so a rickshaw was arranged for her.

Christine had taken a while to stand from her bed, and wash and dress, but when she came downstairs into the sunlight, she felt her spirits lift a bit. Her mood had been considerably heightened after waking groggily while wrapped in strong arms. She thought it a dream, yet heard the deep voice of an angel speak to her. It was no dream, and no dream would leave a lingering memory of fingers pressed lightly onto her lips.

The rickshaw took Hadjira and Christine out of the front gates and into the city of Shiraz. The city was small, yet it was the most beautiful thing Christine had ever seen. They rode past temples and shrines, astounding mosques and breath taking gardens. Christine's favourite was the rose gardens Hadjira took her to. They stretched out as far as she could see whites, pinks, yellows and deep reds looking heavenly in the Persian sun. She took a long inhale, letting the scent overpower her, the same way it had done in her dressing room in Paris, after her memorable singing debut. She felt a stinging sadness at the memory. She bent down, and plucked a single blood red rose, pawing its soft petals with her fingers, and brushing it against her nose. She felt a little light head, even with the sun pounding down on her.

Hadjira had animatedly talked about her city fondly, explaining the history of the city of roses and poets. Christine had loved hearing stories of the Emirs gone by, the love affairs that took a part in the history of shaping the city, the mystery of some poets riddles on their tomb stones, which they visited. Christine was feeling a whole lot better when they began to travel back.

"Hat-el-tef," Hadjira paused at the name, watching the reaction of Christine. When she turned her head, eagerly curious, she continued. "…he did not always live in Shiraz."

"Oh?" Christine cocked her head to the side.

"He took me on as a maid, years ago, Miss." She started her story. Christine was now intrigued, desperate to know about Erik's past. "He was a very young man. I was working as a servant at the Emir's palace. The Emir had heard about a strange young man that had been travelling around Persia. Where he came from before then, I do not know. He was said to have powers that no other man could possess. He was rumoured to be a sorcerer of terrible powers. The Emir had requested someone bring this man to him. On arrival, it was Hal-el-tef. He and the Emir talked for days and weeks. Men where executed for trying to overhear them. After a few months, the mysterious masked man was requested to plan and build a palace for the Emir. A palace that was unique, and deadly." Christine felt her head swimming at the story. Emirs? Palaces? Erik had seemed to live a fascinating life before the Opera. What had made him leave? Hadjira answered her questions.

"The Emir had now a box of magic. The biggest magic box anyone had ever seen! There were corridors of mirrors, invisible doors, trap ceilings and floors, hidden passage ways, doors that purposefully made you loose your way. Hal-el-tef even created a mannequin, of terrifying likeness to the Emir, so he could be in two places at the same time." Christine remembered the first time she had laid eyes on her own life like mannequin, and had passed out with fright. "But the Emir was also terribly afraid of the masked man. He was scared of the power he had, and of the ways he could disappear without anyone noticing. He was most afraid of him leaving and helping someone else against him with his genius mind. The Emir had Hal-el-tef sentenced to execution." Christine gasped in horror. "He must have fled, for I saw nothing of him till a few months ago, when he sought his old staff out quietly, so as not to draw attention to himself. He still has a very large bounty on his head."

And now he does in Paris, Christine thought. No kind words and no compassion. He had spoken the truth to her, and she felt her heart break for him.

"Why do you call him Haltef?" Christine asked. She knew its meaning, yet didn't understand why that meaning had any importance to these people. She thought only she knew him in that concept…like an angel.

"It the courts, he would sing for the Emir and his lords. Everyone who heard said it was that of an angel. Hal-el-tef means angelic." Christine nodded quietly, falling deep in her own thoughts.

They arrived back at the Estate later in the afternoon. As they were pulling up to the house, another rickshaw was waiting outside. Christine looked curiously at it as she hopped out of her own, aided by Hadjira. The front door was heaved open at that moment, and a young woman stepped out into the afternoon sun. She was very pretty, dark skin and matching eyes. They twinkled, yet looked sad at the same time. She was dressed in lavish clothes of muslin and silk. She glanced up at the two women, and nodded to them. Hadjira nodded solemnly back to her as she rode away in her carriage.

"Who was that?" Christine asked, frowning slightly. Hadjira hesitated.

"Err…friend…of, Nasih maybe." She didn't meet Christine's gaze, and she walked away quickly towards the front doors. Christine kept her gaze on the back of her head.

Christine had taken to exploring again. She avoided upstairs completely this time, and now wandered through the downstairs corridors, which lead to the large courtyard in the centre. She wandered through it, capturing the sun on her porcelain skin. Her skin had began to bring out soft freckles across her nose, making her complexion look a little refreshed and sun kissed. She wandered back inside, taking one of the more sunlight corridors. She came to one of the farthest doors, and entered. It was a very musty library, obviously not touched for years. The walls looked different to the rest of the house, of a grey coloured brick, so Christine reckoned the house must have been restored over this part. The books lay jammed into their selves, dust almost completely covering their titles. She coughed as she dusted some, reading the Old Persian manuscripts, none of the titles understandable to her. She wandered to the window, and finally saw the back of the house. A display of part of the city fell back down a hill, where trees of jasmine and palm littered the grounds. It looked so pleasant, she smiled slightly and sighed.

"So, you are feeling better?"

Christine jumped, startled at the voice in the doorway. Erik stood there, white mask covering his face, dressed in deep blue robes. She turned away after her heart race came down, occupying herself with the view.

"Yes." She replied, in monotone.

He stood, unsure of what to say next. He was there almost a good 2 minutes before talking once more.

"I…I heard you were ill." He muttered to her. She raised her eyebrows without looking to him.

"Really?" Her reply came almost sarcastically. He tilted his head back slightly, his pride being rubbed the wrong way. He took a few more steps into the room. She now looked at him, and he stopped. She narrowed her eyes slightly.

"I thought you didn't want me near you." She exclaimed. He cocked his head, and then made to turn around. She didn't really want him talking to her, as he had made it quite clear how he felt about her now, even after coming to her that night. She would make it clear she would do as he requested. She hadn't come to Persia to gloat about leaving him.

"Christine," There it was again, her name sounding so wonderful in his deep voice. She flicked her eyes back to the window. "You are safe here. I want you to know that. And I…" He forced himself to say it. "I'm sorry for your loss."

She snorted. "Which one?"

He frowned slightly. "Christine, I know about the Vicomte."

"And you're sorry? I thought you would be over the moon!" She spat at him. He growled aggressively, and spun on his heel.

"I will not listen to your childish comments."

"CHILDISH!" She screamed. "You _bastard_!" Erik's face twisted into fury, but she cut him short. "You were going to kill him, Erik, _to get what you want_! That's how far you take childish!"

Erik became red in the face, and his breathing heavy. He stalked over towards Christine. She flinched slightly, and he shook his head.

"Did I not let you go?" He growled. "Did I not let you have what you want? I gave up what I want for you in the end!"

"You're the one who set up the conditions!" She screamed back. "I would not have let the blood of another stain my conscience! I made my choice, you know what it was."

He watched her sun kissed face grow more and more angry. He felt so much anger towards her, yet he couldn't help admire the way the sun was dancing in her hair through the window, or how radiant she looked. He felt all arguments fall from his head, becoming speechless.

"I…I did not come here looking for comfort for Raoul." She said more softly, Raoul's name causing a hot pain to buzz through her. "I came here because I thought I could trust you once. I thought maybe you could still find it in your heart to help me, and explain why this is happening to me."

He couldn't bear it if she cried again. He gritted his teeth for the over spill of them at the mention of Raoul. He grieved that she never thought of him like that. He grieved that her tears were for Raoul, and not for him. He couldn't help but feel insanely jealous.

"I will help." He said, still with an angry undertone. She lifted up her hanging head. "But now that you're not…still named Daae, you still are in considerable danger. And you know, if I am found, you are found."

Christine nodded, understanding that Erik also was in hiding, and understanding that her fortune had now not past to the De Chagney account that would have happened if she was married. It was her own fault, and if she had not been so sick, she wouldn't even be here. But it soon dawned on her that she was here because; she was in depression, a deep grieving, for this man in front of her.

Christine took a sharp breathe in, a gasp causing Erik to raise an eyebrow. It was because of Erik, she was not married, not because Raoul was dead. Indirectly, she was here, because of him. Because of Erik.

She quickly moved past Erik, half running from the old library. He turned, confused, and ran after her.

"Christine, what is it?" He said angrily, catching her arm. She tried to push him away, but he kept a firm grip on her arm. It hurt, as it was her healing wrist. She cried out quietly, so he loosened it quickly. She looked up at him, and felt that mysterious feeling she felt for him every time she looked. Her heart would flutter, her head would spin, and a strong magnetic pull would beg her body to melt into his. She had tried to ignore it, but now it had come clearer to her, and she was scared of it.

"Christine…?" He looked worried at her.

For the first time in a long time, she looked deep into his eyes. He felt sick at the frustrating power she had over him. He should hate this woman, hate her for leaving him. Yet he knew she had chosen to stay with him, and it was his love for her that let her go. Why was looking at her so hard? Her doe eyes entranced him, and her angelic curls framed her face so blindly beautifully, he felt dizzy. She raised a small hand to the bare part of his arm. On contact, he took a deep breath in, feeling his legs go weak. She trailed her finger softly along his arm, pulling it downwards to his hand, where he held it there tensely. He took a tiny step nearer to her, and she leaned further into his presence. She squeezed his hand slightly.

"Thank you for looking after me the other night. I appreciate it."

She let go of his hand and walked away, leaving him stood in surprise and suspense, watching her retreat down the corridor.


	16. Angel on Earth

The slam of the door made the interior of the room shudder. Erik smashed over a few tables before standing in his room, out of breath and clenching his fists.

How could he let her intoxicate his mind once more? How could he make himself even dream that he had seen something sparkle in her eyes for a tiny bit, when she had thanked him for staying with her? He couldn't believe she knew. He was so angry that she knew! Angry and embarrassed. And yet, she hadn't been angry with him because of that. She had _thanked_ him. He closed his eyes at the memory of her touch on his arm.

_Stop it! _His mind screamed at him. _You fool; she doesn't feel anything for you! Stop dreaming, that almost destroyed you last time! I hate her._

He sat in a large armchair next to the balcony, facing the back view of the house, with jasmine trees and palms, the city and further, hills and mountains, leading to an afternoon sky of angry orange and blood red. He placed his head in his hands, and argued with himself repetitively.

_No, _he thought, _I will not be hurt once again. She can stay till the danger has past. _

But his mind now wandered to other matters. He had told Christine she would be safe here at his Estate, and he would do anything to protect her. He had to, he had promised to. But her staying here was still a threat. Not only was he being searched for by bounty hunters in Persia, still a lot of them attracted to the large fortune on his head, still from years past, the police department in Paris also were searching for him, but the most dangerous threat was a hidden secret. A secret that only 2 people in the world knew about, and was hidden away with Erik a long time ago. If found out, Erik would be traced, and Christine being here with him would put her in the path of death.

He had no other way of keeping her safe, apart from wait for her coming of age, but he trusted the second person who knew of the secret. He trusted them not to give anything away of his whereabouts. The same way she had trusted him, and brought him to live at the Opera house.

- --

Christine sat trembling in her own room. She watched the curtains billow calmly in the afternoon breeze, reflecting none of her own emotions.

She was on the verge of tears, but they did not come. All she could think about was him. Erik. His face clouded her mind, his voice sang to her, and shook the very core of her soul. She had hated what he had done, she hated him for threatening Raoul, and she hated him for loving her once.

She tried to listen carefully to the memory of his voice, when she had seen him as an angel sent to her by her father. It sent shivers to her spine, recalling those nights when she would be alone in her bed, and here echo's of a ghost, so frightening, and yet so familiar. She remembered the night of Don Juan, when she had stood up on stage with Erik in her final performance. He had truly intoxicated her, and she would have given anything for him. She had been taken already; when he held her, and declared a love for her she would never posses. She ripped the mask from his face, unable to let him finish his song. She couldn't bear it. She couldn't let Raoul see her fall. Christine hated herself. She had destroyed Erik. And yet he still talked of protecting her. Was he the tormented one, or was she?

- --

Early the next morning, Christine had wandered outside to the fountain in the gardens. She sat on the low rim around the pool of cool water, dipping her bare feet and hands into it. It felt so pleasant under the Persian sun, her skin bronzing beautifully under its rays. She had scraped her hair back into a gathered bun of curls to cool her neck. Her thoughts were still troubled. She frowned, not just from the glare of sunlight. Her thoughts of Erik were still not clear, and she was worried about them. But even still, she would not let her feelings affect him. She would keep quiet. Erik did not deserve to be subject to her again.

She suddenly heard footsteps behind her, and was shocked at what she saw.

Erik stood, clad in casual black trousers and a loose white shirt. He was looking at her curiously, as she was to him. He looked so…so out of place. Christine had never seen Erik in any form of natural light. His pale skin looked strange against the blue skies and the sun light gardens. She was so surprised, he frowned.

"No good morning then?" He muttered awkwardly. She let go of her caught breath as he sat opposite her on the fountain. She was still gaping at him slightly. Why did he look so different?

"Did you make this?" She finally got out, nodding towards the fountain. Erik nodded, frowning up at his work. He stroked the stone pool edge carefully, as if inspecting his work. "It's very beautiful." She added.

He looked at her with his sea green eyes, sparkling in the sun. She felt her breath leave her once more. He looked so magnificent, as if meant for a grander stage. She had realised why he looked different. He looked like a man. An normal, high class lord, who would meet up with his courtier at the fountain, and talk of art, summer days and politics, who might suggest a picnic later that afternoon, or take a stroll through the landscape. If it wasn't for his mask, and his mysterious aura, she would be convinced of the image.

"Christine.." He began, combing her with his eyes, longing to run his hands through her shining hair. She remained silent. "I want you…to meet me. Tonight. I have something I have been meaning to give you."

Her mind began racing. What was he talking about? She ran images through her head of what it could be, each more ridiculous that the last.

"I will be in the yard. After the sun has gone down. Ok?" The 'ok' was not said in a tone of a question, more of a demand. She nodded silently. He lingered for a moment, watching her quietly, then got up quickly, and made for the back of the house.

"Erik." Her sweet voice travelled to him, melting his senses. He turned, squinting slightly at the suns beam. "Why after the suns gone down?"

He thought for a moment. "It's something for you, no one else." He turned his head slightly, indicating covertly to the maids rushing by open windows and gardeners not to far off from them. She nodded once more, and he left her sat next to one of his masterpieces.

- ---

Christine had been nervous all day. She had no idea why she was, he only wanted to give her something. But this was Erik. Nothing was casual or calming with him. Anyone else would have not gone. But once again, he heart led the way, deaf to the protests of her head. She crept down the marble staircase which was cold against her bare feet, and tried to retrace her steps from the other day, towards the courtyard at the centre.

It night was very warm, and Christine could hear the crickets song outside the windows that she past. The stars twinkled magically in the sky, winking at her as she past. Finally she reached the dark, unlit courtyard, passing through an open door frame from a corridor. She squinted to see in the darkness, the courtyard being shaded from the clear moons glow. There were shadows in the corners which made her stomach turn a little. She clutched her arms together, despite the warm air of the night. She forgot how long she had waited, her thoughts on what was about to happen, and secretly wishing she wasn't there.

"I'm glad you came." His voice sang behind her. She turned slowly to see him towering over her. She could see the white mask gleaming, and his eyes, hard and piercing. She took the tiniest step backwards, so he would not be so close to her.

"I was meant to give this to you for some time, but..."

_But you couldn't because I left. _She thought. She looked around, wondering what she would see him produce. He pulled up one of his hands, and she could make out a box clutched there. She took it from his nervously; careful as not to touch him, scared of what would happen if she did.

Her eyes were adjusting now to the darkness, and she could see the small box was black. A plain old box. She looked curiously at Erik, who returned her gaze, but looked down at the box once more

She lifted the lid with slightly trembling fingers. Inside, there was nothing but a parchment note. She quickly took it from the box to read the beautifully handwriting that blessed the paper. She just about made out what it said.

'_To my beautiful darling Christine,_

_Angels are all around us, the kind that heaven sends. I was sent an angel once, a magical day when my world was changed forever. I was awakened by a beauty that came to the world and blessed me with her presence. Christine, you were my angel, and you have made me the happiest soul in the world. _

_I promised you I would send you an angel, to protect you in times of need, and to love you as I have. Remember my darling that Angels, and their beauty is always apparent in some form. I trust you to find your angel. _

_I love you and will be with you always,_

_Father Xxx_

Christine let out a sob as she read the last word. She shut the box and clutched the sacred treasure to her chest. Tears fell from her eyes, and she broke into soft sobs of pain. Her father had meant this letter for her, and she had not received it till now. She cried at his words, missing him like no other, yearning for his embrace that made her feel secure and loved.

As she wept, an embrace did come. She felt herself moving into the masculine form, wrapping there arms around her protectively. She forgot everything and cried into Erik chest. He stroked her hair as she shook uncontrollably in his arms. He felt his heart breaking once more, and he felt an urge to push her from him and run. But he could not do that to her. Not now, not when she was like this.

"Did…did you read this?" She sounded muffled in his chest.

"No…" He whispered. That was the truth. He had been entrusted with it by Madame Giry, being instructed to keep it until she was ready, when the pain had past. Obviously Madame Giry had forgotten about the letter meant for Christine, and so Erik had kept it safe until the opportune moment. He half wished he hadn't given it to her now; it caused him distress to see her like this.

_I trust you to find your angel. Their beauty is always apparent in some form. _

The written words echoed in her head. Her father promised her he would send the Angel of Music to her, and she had fallen into the trap that this man, who held her so tenderly, was that Angel. When she had found out he was a man, her dreams where shattered, and she fell terribly afraid of him. Now, her mind was formulating once more, into terrifying conclusions. Conclusions that she may have been wrong…

"Erik, " She lifted her face upwards to look at him. His face was contort with worry, yet still held a stiff, hardened look at her, like he wished for her to stop. She pulled away, and handed him the note. He took it silently, and glanced at it.

"Read it..." Christine sniffed.

His eyes scanned the page. He took his time, or read it a few times over, before slowly meeting with Christine's gaze. She was still letting tears flow down her cheeks, running onto her chest, yet she was looking at him with an unnamed emotion.

"My father saw me as his angel. A human. I am his angel on earth. That's what he meant…"

Erik watched her flick her eyes back and forth, darting for answers. Her breathing was becoming shallow and rapid, she was obviously in distress.

"My father… He promised me…Why would he not keep a promise, to send me my angel..." She turned her voice to a whisper, her eyes locked on Erik, whose chest was rising and falling rapidly. "…my Angel of Music?"

Christine took a step nearer to Erik, who took a large breath in. His head was pounding._ No! No! No! Don't you do it, you're a fool. A damn fool! The witch has drawn you in again. You're weak!_

But his heart only had eyes for the wonder before him, deafening the yells of his thoughts. It dragged him nearer to her, making his hand catch her face, stroking a thumb down her soft cheek and twist fingers in her hair. She put a small hand to his chest, and moved it backwards to his shoulder, forcing her to move even closer to him. He was shaking now, and she could feel his strong frame weakening from her touch. She reached her other hand to his face, stroking his good cheek, and pulling her fingers down to his lips. He kissed them gently, his nerves on end. Christine then made her hand move to his mask. He jerked back, a natural reaction to the protection of his true self. Christine held sadness in her eyes as he did so, and she shook her head slightly.

"Erik…" Her whisper was tangent to another that came from none of them. It sounded shriller, and it had said nothing, but had gasped. They both let of each other instantly, and spun around to the cause of the gasp.

There in the doorframe, was the young pretty woman Christine had seen leaving the house a few days before.

"Sara…" Erik muttered, his eyes growing wide with damped horror.


	17. Do or dont

**NOTE: Shea-haba means beautiful, I spelt it phonetically so you can imagine **

Sara gave Christine murderous looks as she marched up towards them both. Erik caught her before she could reach Christine, who gasped at the rage she could see imprinted in the woman's face. The pretty woman was trying to get past Erik, screaming things in her direction. Erik was shouting back at her, in fluent Persian. Christine had never heard him speak like this before, yet it still sounded familiar, with the same deep rumble deep from his chest. Yet this voice had no softness to it. He was speaking quite harshly to the woman, or as far as she could make out.

"Who is this! Why was she touching you!" Sara was yelling at Erik, yet keeping a deathly glare at the young girl behind him.

"It's none of your business!" Erik snarled at her. Sara stopped struggling and looked hurt. She backed away from Erik, looking at him painfully from his harsh words. Erik almost regretted it, but he couldn't forgive her for just interrupting what was just about to happen.

"I…I thought…we…" Sara stammered; her massive dark eyes full of pain. Erik sighed.

"There was no 'we'" He was forced to admit. He had enjoyed his time with Sara, she had been a good comfort to him, but he had slept with others before her, and felt no different to her than the others, he just admired the compassion she would show him. Even though his feelings were none existent towards her, he felt a rush of guilt, as he had had his fair share of rejection. "Sara, I thank you for your time, but I told you, our acquaintance has to stop."

"I know, I just…I just thought you may…" She cast a look back at Christine. "Does she know about us?"

Christine was watching from behind Erik, and grew worried at the seriousness of the conversation. When the woman looked back at her, and muttered something, silence came. Christine took a step forward.

"Erik…what's going on? Who is this woman?" Erik didn't turn, and kept his gaze on Sara's face, which looked back at Christine when she spoke, and then back at Erik. Erik was frowning and breathing through his nose heavily.

"No one, Christine. Sara is…is another lord's maid in Persia, she… she delivers messages for me."

Christine did not believe his story one bit. She frowned and cast a questioning look at Sara, who held hatred in her eyes for Christine. Why would she be looking at her like that if she was who Erik says she was? All arrows pointed to this woman having feelings for Erik...

The woman muttered something to Erik in a menacing voice before turning on her heel, and making towards the doorframe to the corridors. Before leaving she turned back, and to the shock of the both, spoke in heavy accented English.

"I am no messenger. This man has spent many a night in my company, and now thinks he can just turn me away. I wish you good luck, pretty girl. Maybe you will tame him."

Christine's jaw was wide with shock, as Erik cringed at her words. He gawped at her as she disappeared into the darkness. He didn't turn, and Christine didn't move. She clutched the letter in her hand hard, as if it may give her more advice. None came. Her mind was a blur. Erik had a lover? Her heart began to sink, sink lower than ever. This hurt her more than his rejection. She felt complete sadness and maddening jealousy all at once. She moved in front of Erik slowly. He didn't meet her eyes for a long time, keeping his glued to his feet. She reached out her hand and lifted his chin up slowly.

"Is this true?"

He nodded solemnly. She felt the tears well up again and brim over the edge. As they fell, she looked to the ground, unwilling for him to see her tears over him. She brushed them away angrily.

"It's not like it makes a difference to you." He said to her spitefully. "You don't love me."

Christine clenched her jaw. Should she admit it? Should she deny it? Should she just leave him and not say a word? How could he be so cruel, after allowing her to be taken away by him again, not to long before? She could take no more of this.

"….Ok Erik."

She lifted the note from her father to her chest as she turned and left him in the courtyard.

Erik swore loudly, and knelt on the floor, curling into himself. He twisted his fingers into his hair and clutched at it violently. Why! WHY! WHY! Why the hell did he say that? She was about to…to… he didn't know, but it was not an act someone would do out of not loving. He had just thrown Christine's and Sara's recent compassion back in they're faces. Then again, Christine had done the same to him. It just seemed that he was doing it a lot more to her than she has done to him. Once again, the battle raged in his head and heart as he retired to his room. Forgiveness was not something he expected from Christine, and now lost faith in it ever happening. He had just lost her all over again.

- --

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Christine…"

Christine was laid on her bed, ignoring the quiet knocks on her door.

"Christine, I'm coming in, dear. I've brought you some breakfast."

The door was opened slowly and Hadjira moved into the room with a large tray of mixed fruit, and an array of breads and things Christine hadn't recognised till she had arrived in Persia. She set the tray down and sat on the bed with Christine, brushing some silent tears from her cheeks.

"Oh dear dear, what is the matter, shea-haba? What is worrying your pretty head?" She stroked her hair comfortingly. Christine sniffed a few times, and sat up slightly.

"Eri…Hal-tef…he…he has a…a woman…"

Hadjira frowned.

"Madame, he 'has' no woman, or to say, he does not own a woman. Of course not."

Christine sat up further, rubbing her eyes angrily.

"That's not what I meant! You know…you know who I mean!"

Hadjira knew Christine had not forgotten the woman she saw leaving the house that day, but she did not know what Erik had now told Christine about Sara, or others. Hadjira decided that the truth was best in this situation.

"Hal-el-tef has many a beautiful woman for company, Madame, like a lot of lords in Persia. Sara is…"

"A whore. I know." Christine said angrily.

"Madame! Don't let me hear you speak of such a word again! Sara is a concubine, but recently, her visits have overstayed her usual time. May the master have a certain fondness for her, then so be it."

Christine half sighed, half sobbed at this. Hadjira watched her quietly for a while, handing her wipes for her tears. She hugged the young girl warmly.

"If I may be so bold, young Madame, forgive me, but the master seems, well… I know it is not my place…but he seems a little…besotted with you?"

Christine looked at her through blurry eyes, frowning a little.

"I…but, I cant, I …left, he doesn't care." She babbled. The thing Christine was finding so very strange was the way Hadjira would talk of Erik. Christine had never been able to talk about him to anyone before, as he was her angel, her personal mentor, and to everyone else, The Phantom of the Opera. A ghost. Talking about his feelings for her, like he was…human, was a new feat for Christine. She found it a little over bearing.

"He…he scares me sometimes…" To her surprise, she found herself talking to the smiley maid, with the huge heart, telling her for the first time about her emotions. "He scares me to the point of terror. I…I spent nights lying in bed, hearing his voice in my head, waiting for night to end. And yet…I was pulled to him for a reason I don't know why…I don't know. And I know that what scares me is what...attracts. I'm sorry, I'm making no sense.."

Hadjira patted her arm comfortingly, and kissed her forehead. Christine felt a huge release leave her, that she could finally state her confusion, than keep it stored confusing her to the point of constant headaches and rapidly changing emotions. She felt a strong serge of gratitude towards Hadjira.

"Listen, my dear." She held one of her hands as she talked. "You will know when you see the world in their eyes, and their eyes everywhere in the world."

Christine was moved by her words, and smiled at her slightly, as she left the room. She did see him everywhere she went, her thoughts, her dreams, her waking moments, and she saw her whole self, her life, the world in his eyes. But what did that mean she knew?

These thoughts ran through her head as she approached that large iron door at the end of the corridor. Tonight, she would finally confront the emotions of Erik and her past, present and future.


	18. Remember me

No answer.

Christine felt her nerves grow wearier as she knocked on the iron doors once again. Nothing stirred inside, and she pressed her ear up to the door to listen for any movements or such. Nothing. Christine sighed, and knocked once more. Again, no response. Maybe she was wrong; maybe this was a bad idea. She quickly decided it was, and turned away. Her bare feet padded slightly down the tiled floors back to her room, her heart heavy with disappointment. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she failed to see the presence in front of her, walking the opposite way. She jumped and gasped slightly as the figure was close enough for her to touch.

"Oh…I, I was just trying to find…" She stammered. Erik remained still, leaving the good side of his face in shadow, only his masked side showing in the growing moonlight. His eyes twinkled madly. She felt her breath catch at the sight of him. Her heart was in her mouth, beating terribly.

"You were trying to find…?" He repeated; his voice rumbling right through her. Christine shivered. Why was it so hard to say things to him? What she was going to say had been run through her head so many times, she shouldn't forget. Yet the mere presence of him made her mind awhirl. She took a shallow breath.

"Well, you…actually."

Erik could see her twisting a finger in one of her hands nervously. He watched her shift her weight from one foot to the other, yet keeping her eyes fixed on his. He was beginning to feel dizzy with the sight of her, radiant in the moonlight. She was a goddess. Erik was raw from his last encounter with her. Their 'moment' had over taken his mind with hopeful thoughts, which again, he had tried to banish. He was still convincing himself she was toying with him, or looking for comfort. Half of him had wanted to drown in her kiss that she so torturingly offered that night. The other half was self hating for ever falling for her again. The last thing he wanted was to be a comfort for her for her loss. He would rather die a thousands deaths than be a replacement for Raoul. He would not give her that, ever. Not that it mattered, that had all been interrupted by Sara. Erik had wanted to apologise for what he had said, but ever being the proud man he was, refused to. But now that Christine was her in front of him, intoxicating his mind once more, he was now totally aware of her mood towards him, which seemed…calm. Had she forgiven him for what had happened?

"Christine…I'm sorry for my…my rudeness last night. It was wrong of me…" He sighed. She shook her head, a look of doubt in her eye.

"Formality is not necessary, Erik. I…I came to you because…because I need to know something."

Erik took a step further towards her, moving past the window and submerging himself in complete shadow. She almost cowered under his looming figure, casting his own shadow over her.

"Know what?"

She took a deep breath, her hands where shaking and her legs felt like jelly.

"Do you remember me?"

He narrowed his eyes at Christine. He began to breathe heavy through his nose, and clench his fists.

"Remember you?"

Was she stupid? Did she really think that he had forgotten her? Did she actually think he had managed to banish her touch, her scent and her lips from his waking memory? Tonight, he decided that she would know exactly how he remembered her, no matter the consequences.

"…Christine…I see you everyday. I saw you since the day I heard you sing, and I followed your voice. I see you in my dreams, I hear you in my music, and I remember you with every waking moment."

Christine was trembling, and wiping tears away from her eyes. At this he did not stop. He took another step forward to her.

"All I ever wanted when you arrived was for you to leave. I…I still want you to leave…Christine…"

His voice broke slightly. "Christine, please don't…"

"Don't what..?" She sobbed slightly. He looked into her eyes, with pleading embedded in his.

"Please…please don't hurt me again. Just stay your distance."

Her heart racked with pain and frustration. She was still in deep emotions about the woman that had come to them that night when Erik had given her the letter from her father. Although she knew about this woman Erik had been…acquainted with, she knew Erik must have felt the same raging emotions towards Raoul. And even so, Erik had turned Sara away. Was it because of her? Did he really want her to go? Christine moved to him, and took one of his hands. She could feel him trembling slightly. Was it so hard to talk? Yes. Their silences were filled with the pain from their past, their awkwardness with words was from their lack of direct contact in the past. They stood in silence for a while, before Christine spoke.

"Erik…My Angel…I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I did not want to hurt you. I want anything but to see you suffer."

He staggered his breathing, but let her continue talking. "I…Erik when I left you back at…"

"Shhh!"

He pressed fingers to her lips threatening, not wanting to hear of the times that were still raw in his mind. He felt the cold stab of the memory in his heart. She waited till he removed his fingers slowly. He almost didn't want to, feeling their amazing softness at his finger tips. What he wouldn't give to taste them once more…

"…I woke every night, screaming. I woke from nightmares. Nightmares were I would see you, retreating into darkness, and I would weep…"

She did weep at this moment, while Erik watched her coldly. "I would weep…weep for what I had done…Wept that you had been as stupid as to turn me away! I wept that I was with the man that I had…I had wanted to save! Not be with!" Christine also finally admitted something to herself and to him at the same time, shocking them both.

"I wept…I wept that I could not taste your kiss one last time…"

At that point, Erik grabbed Christine and pushed her aggressively into the wall opposite, her feet barely touching the ground. He snarled at her angrily.

"What do you want me to do? Forget about the two months of darkness I spent grieving? Forget about the times I had convinced myself I hated you with all my heart? Forget that you left with HIM?"

He was pushing her so hard into the wall, she whimpered under his grasp. But this time he did not loosen his grip. He reached up one hand, and tore the ghostly white mask from his face, tossing it aside.

"IS THIS WHAT YOU WEPT FOR? YOU WEPT FOR THIS MONSTER? TELL ME CHRISTINE, YOU KNOW THAT IT IS A CARCASS THAT LOVES YOU?" He was shaking violently, his face twisted hideously. Christine was in shock at his outcry, and she winced under the sight of him, so aggressive towards her, she felt her world would end. He continued to shake her, to get an answer from her.

Christine in response caught her lips with his. Erik's entire body went rigid, and he dropped his grip from her shoulders in shock. He backed away, his eyes wide and full of shock. Christine wiped tears from her neck that had travelled down her cheeks and over her chest. She reached out a hand and took hold of his muscular arm. He was backing away slightly from her as she came forward, but she moved at a quicker pace. He backed completely against the opposite wall. _Run you fool! _His mind screamed. He could easily knock her out the way, easily walk from this place were he had dreaded and dreamed about. Not again. He could not let her have his heart, only to break it once more. But despite Christine's lack of physical strength, she held a huge force over him, weakening his knees, and trapping him completely. All he could do was watch her stand on her tiptoes and reach up to him once more.

She slid her hands around his head and brought his lips down to hers. She lightly kissed them, sending him into a paradise. Against his own screaming thoughts, he drew a shaky arm around her back, bring her closer to him. He also bent slightly so he could fall deeper into her kiss. She awakened whole new senses exploding in him as she slid a tongue across his lips, begging entrance. He gladly accepted, twisting his fingers in her hair with the growing passion the kiss was taking on. Christine drew from the kiss for a moment, and held his deformed face.

"I would have my heart broken for a life time if only I could have your love for a day."

Erik's world was in disarray. He didn't know whether he agreed with her. Could he have her for one day, just to loose her? He knew that one day would be his last if it should occur. He would die of loss. But how could he refuse the one woman who was kissing him so lovingly. He could not refuse his soul.

He now lifted her up and turned her into the wall herself. He brought his body close to hers, supporting her. His breathing became heavy and raw as he began to explore her body with his hands. They ran down her neck, down her chest, curving over her waist and hips. She whimpered in pleasure at his touch. She ran her hands around the base of his neck, and wrapping her legs around him, drawing him closer.

Suddenly, Erik stopped. Christine felt dread rising in her, as she let thoughts run through her head of Erik deciding he didn't want this after all. He let go of her quickly, causing her to gasp with the loss of his support, and falling to the ground. Erik ran to the window, and looked out, worried, almost terrified at what he saw there. He completely ignored Christine as he scrambled for his mask, and ran past her. Christine went to call after him, but he had disappeared down the corridor long before she came out of shock to respond. She picked herself up and ran to the window. She squinted in the darkness, still breathing heavy, and tried to pick out what Erik had seen so shockingly. She could hear something, like horses hooves. She looked harder, only to see a figure riding at full speed toward the house. As the figure dismounted, they ran from the horse and banged frantically on the iron doors.


	19. The Final Threshold

Erik heaved open the front door to let a tired Nasih in. Both men were rasping for breath, each with different reason. Nasih slouched, his hands on his knees as he tried to recover his breath back.

"What is it? What did you find?" Erik gasped. Nasih took a few more deep breaths before answering.

"Nothing to be specific. Yet…yet there was few unreported carriage entrances to the country from the north…through Russia…yet there are plenty of boats shipping in people everyday…what made me come…was the disappearance of a woman…"

Erik was becoming angry with his riddles. He had just been forced to tear away from his living dream to hear what news he so dreaded.

Erik had guarded his secrecy very well up to now. He kept a low profile, not letting anyone come into direct contact with him, as he was no someone who you would forget. 2 countries after his neck, with a very unique visage was not the safest situation to be in. But then again, he was not worried about his own safety...He growled at Nasih.

"You're trying my patience. Who is it?"

"…Sara, Master. Sara has gone missing. I went to check on her on your demands, and the Mistress told me she had left with a stranger a few hours back, and had not returned. That was two days ago, and she still has not returned."

Erik felt his heart sinking, and his mind turn blank. If Sara had gone with a customer, then so be it, but he dreaded to imagine who the customer would be. If Sara gave his whereabouts away, Christine would be in the path of death. Yet Sara would not have been so obvious a target, as how would anyone know that Sara was acquainted with him? Yet, he still had to be sure. He had to be sure she had not just jeopardised his secrecy.

"Go back. Go and find her no matter what. I assure you, Nasih, your pay will be considerable. Leave, and when you find her, bring her to me."

Nasih nodded. Nasih did not run throughout the city, listening in conversations, watching the boarders and roads just for money. The young girl he had watched over for the past weeks had played on his mind and her safety was something he cared for. He actually felt a pang of jealousy toward Erik at times. For having her heart. He felt awful, as he loved his wife dearly, but Christine was different. He had deep feeling for her he could not surface, which only came apparent when he had seen less and less of her the past days. He had missed her terribly, and now worked for her safety.

He reluctantly climbed back on his horse outside and galloped away into the night.

Erik watched him ride away, frowning after him. Erik could not leave now, as he didn't want to risk being seen unnecessarily. He would first confront Sara to where she had been. Once he was convinced his secrecy was still safe, he would be on guard, but somewhat secure again. Safety for Christine was all that mattered.

_Christine! _He remembered. He quickly made his way back to the corridor where he had left her. He panicked at what she may have thought, dropping her and running away without explanation. On coming to the dark corridor, he called her name softly. Nothing.

His eyes, accustomed to darkness, scanned the corridor to see that there was no one there. He cursed to realise she had gone.

- --

Christine had shut herself once more in her room. She had dismissed the horseman as nothing, an excuse Erik had used to drop her and run from the situation he had found himself in. She had no tears, just acceptance. Acceptance that Erik did not want her anymore. Acceptance that she had lost her Angel. It was stupid of course, to think such things without an explanation from him first, but he had given her all the explanation he could.

_Christine! I…When I see you, I feel nothing…nothing! Do you understand? I don't know why you came back, and I really don't care. Just stay out of my way, and don't come snooping around here again!_

His voice rang in her head painfully. What could be a better display of the truth than that? Why had she pursued what was never there. Her Angel…belonged to someone else now.

At this point, tears did well over, and brim to the edge. She threw herself on her pillows, and sobbed into them.

She quickly stopped at a sharp rapping on the door.

"Christine…Are you there?"

It was Erik. She felt that warm fuzzy feeling when he spoke her name once more, but felt sadness block it out.

"Erik…please…Just leave." She called through the locked door. "It doesn't matter, Erik, please just leave me!"

Erik shuddered. He didn't know if it was with disappointment, rage, regret or love. He just felt his body relax properly for the first time ever, and he spoke. Spoke in the voice Christine knew as his angelic voice. His voice given to him by the angels to intoxicate the mind that heard it. He imagined her warmth as he spoke, finally speaking from the heart.

"How can I go, when I cannot imagine us apart? How can I leave when I never really do in my mind? Christine, I was finally getting over you and actually believing I didn't need you. I thought that by telling myself that I hated you. That sooner or later I would come to believe it. But I now realize that by lying, it makes me want you even more. Christine…"

Christine had opened her bedroom door, and was gazing at him, eyes wide with shock at his words. He felt his mind cave in, completely obeying his heart once and for all. Tonight, there would be no pain, no living in the past. He now agreed with her. He would give everything for one night with her loving him, than living a thousand perfect lives without her. He moved into her room, walking towards her slowly, as he carried on speaking.

"Fate brought you back to me, this time I won't let you leave." This sounded menacing, as his breathing was becoming deeper again, his chest rising and falling heavily. His voice was breaking with emotion, yet kept that mind entrancing power lingering in it, making Christine feel helplessly weak. "I thought I would die if I couldn't have you. And when…when you left, I realized death was inferior to what I felt. Without you, Christine… there is no love…" Christine was letting tears spill down her face, as Erik wiped them away with loving hands. "Without you there is no me. Without you there is nothing. Christine…please don't make me leave once again. No more. No…"

She clung to his strong form desperately, holding him like she would never let go. She wanted to melt into him, so their union was complete. Their deep soul mate relationship overtook both their minds when they held each other. Erik held her so tight, incase she would disappear, taking her breath away. She sniffed, and whispered in his ear.

"I thought…I thought you didn't care anymore…I thought I had lost you again."

Erik backed away from the embrace, and looked into her eyes. The true genius of poetry and song finally arose again from its long hiding place.

"How can I not love you when you control my heart, Christine? How, when it beats for you? I love you more than every heavenly being or feeling. My eyes have been mistaken, for this to be true, an Angel so low, an Angel so bright… it's as if God himself has stolen two stars from the night sky, and hid them within your eyes, so one day you shall see, the beauty within, the Angel I see, but above all, you have become, the Angel of my heart.."

Christine drew him in for a passion filled kiss. Tears were lingering there, soaking her skin and lips. She pressed herself into him so deeply; Erik thought he would pass out. Her kiss meant more to him to him than his words. His words were inferior to her warmth pressing against his body. He felt a tear emerge from his own eyes, falling behind his mask. Christine saw it, and reached to place her fingers on the bone white barrier between them. He drew back slightly. She whispered; her voice heavy with passion.

"Even the most beautiful of roses have thorns..." She pulled his mask away to see the distressed skin and tormented features of his right side. He looked down, as if ashamed. She lifted his chin to meet his eyes.

"The greatest gift to me is having my eyes set on you." He looked at her confused, and almost in shock.

"How can you love a monster?" He muttered, angry at his own deformity. He would not be surprised if she cowered, like she had done so many times in his nightmares. But she remained gazing, lovingly at him. She placed a soft kiss against his deformity, feeling him tremble as she did so.

"To dream of you, my love, is to dream of perfection in its greatest. My soul is yours, and yours is mine, and beauty is measured by the soul. Does that mean I am a monster?"

"How could you say such a thing?" Erik said shocked at the idea of Christine being anything close to. She was perfection to him.

"Exactly what I think every time you regret your beauty."

His eyes turned from confusion to adoring. He adored her with every inch of his body, heart and soul. He felt her hand caressing his face, and one resting on his chest. Her touch was awaking feelings of desire. His gaze, Christine watched turn to passion. They suddenly glinted with a hunger towards her. His eyes dragged themselves all over her figure as he pushed her back to look at her. He then moved to the bedroom door, leaving Christine for a moment. He shut it tight, and turned the lock. He turned back to her, candlelight casting him in magnificent shadows. Christine's breath was taken away by the sight of him. She felt such an over whelming desire for him that she gasped slightly. He stalked towards her, and before he could reach out to touch her, he whispered,

"The games we've played till now are at an end. _This_ is the final threshold."


	20. thank you

Silence followed, which Christine felt was awkward. Looking at him inevitably brought back memories of him from the Opera. How this man had terrified the corps de ballet, made girls and men alike scream for their lives, not coming out of rooms for days. How he had appeared in her mirror, horrifying her as well as entrancing her. All those people he had…murdered…

Christine felt a wave of nerves run through her body, and a tiny flash of doubt past over her face. How could she not have thought that this moment should have belonged to Raoul? Guilt made an angry pang in her heart. Erik watched her silently, breathing heavy.

"Is this what you want?" He rasped, his voice a lot deeper and horse than usual. "Decide, Christine, before…before…"

His last word were uttered through a kiss which Christine had pulled him passionately into. Her doubts had been floundered as soon as she heard his voice. She had waited to long for this. Erik held her tenderly, caressing her curves and pulling her in closer. He leaned forward, pushing her toward the wall. He hitched her up none to gently as she wrapped her legs around his waist, moaning little noises of pleasure as he moved his kisses down to her neck.

Being so close to her mind Erik's mind go senseless. She _wanted_ him! She was here, _giving _herself to him. Never once had he pitied anyone but himself, but for this moment, he pitied any man who did not have what he had now. At this moment, he forgot his disfigurement, forgot his past and became…was it _happiness_? He had been right to mourn for it so, it was such an overwhelming emotion, he thought it may not be real, and this would all be just a dream. But here _Christine_ was! She was so real, so warm to touch, so wonderfully soft. No, he was not dreaming. Dreams had been a cruel joke compared to this. Never, when he had dreamed of Christine in his arms, had he ever come close to this feeling.

Christine had her hands entangled in his hair, pulling him closer to her. She gasped at every passion filled kiss he placed on her skin, causing her skin to tingle and her body to shudder. She began to run her hand over his collar bone, and down toward his chest, where the beginning of his shirt was buttoned. She undid one timidly amidst their embrace, and began slowly removing it. She was sick with nerves, as she had never been in an embrace quite like this. At her time at the Opera, the ballet girls would talk of suitors would they would spend nights with, and give all the small details away in a proud manner. Christine had been shocked, and hoped she would never have to do things that they so proudly claimed to do. But at this moment, it all seemed so natural, and so _right_, that her nerves turned to impatience. When his chest was finally revealed to her, she felt a race of excitement, as what had cursed him in features had not been bestowed on his body, apart from…

She saw a long line running from inside the rest of his shirt, and across to his abdomen. She slid down the wall as he backed away slowly, once again revealing his height over her. She traced a finger across the line, feeling that it indented slightly. It shimmered lighter than the rest of his skin, and felt smooth. A scar…

Christine pushed his shirt from his shoulders, watching the magnificent body reveal to her, but as she put her arms around him, she felt the source of the brutal scar she had seen across his front. Erik let her explore his back patiently, his eyes still burning with fire and passion, her touch causing his arousal to heighten. Christine moved around him, and to her horror, saw a mass of the scars cruelly placed on his back.

"What…?" She began, tears welling in her eyes. She whispered softly, " …Oh Erik." He turned and stroked her tear away.

"It doesn't matter now. Those scars are not something I care about. Don't pity me."

That seemed more of an aggressive command than a request. He hoped to God it had not frightened her enough for her to be repulsed by his body, but his self consciousness was quickly dismissed by another loving, world altering kiss. This time he felt his urges become more desperate, and he could feel the aching desire begging to be released. He spun Christine around, so she had her back to him. He placed kisses along her shoulder, as he brought his caress over her thighs and waist. She let her head fall back on his chest, letting him explore her. She pulled an arm back to hold his face as he did so, and he placed his lips and the tip of his tongue on her finger tips.

Slowly he had made it to her ribbons on her nightgown. His fingers trembled as pulled one loose, and another…and another.

Soon her gown had fallen to the ground, and he was seeing her stood in her under garments. She looked like a goddess. Her lips were swollen and rouge from her kisses, her chest was rising and falling, and her sun kissed skin looked intoxicating in the candlelight.

This time she walked up to him, and skimmed her fingers teasingly over his body. Her hand soon stopped as she came to the edge of his trouser line. She felt that wave of nerves come over her once again. She knew what was beneath, as the young women of the corps de ballet had so graphically explained, and it scared her somewhat. What scared her was that this was Erik. A man who had watched her grow up, a man she had took comfort as a friend and guardian. This had not been betrayed, yet she had been introduced to the other side of things, to the more raw side to their feelings, that now some of her feelings where being explained.

Erik moved in for another deep kiss, and let her hand linger on his waist line. During their kiss, she grew more confident, and a little curious. Her hand moved very slowly downwards above the material, causing Erik to gasp slightly. Her hand finally found the source, and Erik moved closer to her, making his arousal painfully obvious to her.

Erik quickly spun her around once more, catching her and wrapping his powerful arms around her. He caressed her again, kissing her neck and shoulders, and letting his hand trail to her waist. He would let her know what it was like to torment.

Erik began to undo lace her bodice slowly, letting the tension overpower him. He would not let this night happen too quickly, he had waited to long for it. Both their breathing was heavy with passion and expectation. On the last ribbon, Erik's hands where trembling. The bodice finally fell away, and he went dizzy with the sight of her naked flesh. He held her waist, and then moved slowly upwards, towards her breasts. He held his breath as she moaned when he softly held her. She could feel his shaking tremendously as he now trailed his hands down towards her stomach and to her last piece of under garments. He traced the hem, as he whispered in her ear things that only she would hear, and understand. Words that would alter history if spoken aloud, words that were kept a secret in the darkest of places, hidden from all light and good, till now. Christine clung to Erik desperately. His pressed his fingers softly into her warm flesh, causing her to arch violently. She was gasping for breath, gritting her teeth slightly.

"Tell me," He whispered, his lips skimming her ear, ", tell me…that your mine!"

"I'm yours…I'm yours, I swear….oh...Erik!" She moaned, and literally dragged him on top of her on the bed. She felt his arousal pressing dangerously close to her, as the weight of his body overtook her small frame. Amidst their furious embrace, they freed themselves of their last garments of clothing. They lay for a minute, enjoying the feel of skin against skin. Their bodies were slick from the heat the evening sun had left behind, and they were heaving for breath in the intense warmth of the room.

Christine ran her hand over his face, pushing back his hair, which was clinging to his forehead. She smiled, as trembled heavy breaths escaped him. She observed his face, so passion filled and something she had seen on special occasions. It was nervousness. He had been with women before, and was a very good lover, as he had been told, yet this was Christine. This was what he lived for, and the first time with her was like facing the meaning of life. But his fear was melted away as Christine uttered words from underneath him, so loving and true.

"I love you."

Christine was sure she saw a tear fall down his cheek, and disappear into the sheets. He positioned himself over her, and stopped at her nervous expression.

"Erik…I'm…I'm scared."

He didn't reply, just smiled. She smiled back, guiding him to her entrance. After moments of hesitation, he slid into her. She cried out as he reached her barrier, pressing painfully against it. Not wanting to hurt her for long, he quickly thrust into her, breaking her quickly. She cried, clinging to his shoulders, letting tears squeeze from her eyes.

"It won't hurt for long…" He gruffed, his own passion filling his senses. Yet he ignored them for Christine, moving slowly and gently. She whimpered at his gentle thrusts for a while, her legs shaking and her arms wrapped tightly around Erik's neck as he lowered himself to her. Christine was in pain, more than she had expected. But another feeling was soothing the sharp pain inside her, a feeling that was reacting from Erik's soft thrusts. She began to let her mind concentrate on that sensuous feeling, and soon, it had blocked out all the painful sensations. She realized she was moving her hips with Erik, arching her back slightly to allow him deeper access to her. He moved more quickly in her, promising a climax that she so desperately earned for. Their moans of pleasure became louder, the light casting moving shadows against the walls, clearly visible from the outside. In their final thrusts, Erik gasped her name in her ear, and she called his into the night air. He spilt his warm seed into her, after sending her over the edge in a sea of pleasure. Erik collapsed on her, as she put her hands in his hair, curling it fondly. He rolled of her after catching his breath and lay with his arm over his eyes. He felt Christine shuffle up him and wrapping an arm around his waist, squeezing slightly. The candles burned out, as he lay for a long time awake. He sought sleep, and would not let it take him, as he feared Christine would not be here in the morning, a nightmare of pleasure and false promises. But the last thought that past his mind before he drifted into a deep sleep, was that of thanks. Thanks to the unseen power that he had cursed all his life for his deadly fate. A silent thank you he let pass over his lips, and fall into a smile.


	21. Will You

**- --**

She felt the heat first, warm and soothing on her back. She rolled over in the soft pillows, facing a pool of light that poured through the open shutters of the bedroom. Christine squinted slightly while fluttering her eyes open. The room was so bright; her eyes throbbed for awhile before they adjusted. The tiniest of breezes came fluttering past the muslin curtains, which made Christine smile slightly, pulling the crisp white sheets up to her chin. She felt so peaceful, she wondered why. And soon she came to realize it was the absence of heavy thoughts and nightmares that had so recently plagued her mind, leaving the images imprinted in her waking moments. There had been only deep peace in her sleep, and she began to understand the reasons.

Christine heard a deep sigh next to her, and turned to the man who lay there. He was breathing softly, his chest rising and falling steadily. His eyes were shut in slumber, and on his lips, the tiniest of smiles. Christine lay watching him for a long time, admiring his magnificent form. She stroked the side of his face ever so gently, the side that held such heart breaking good looks; it would turn heads of admiration. She laid a soothing hand the other side, the side of his face that would turn heads for reasons of horror and hatred. But he looked so peaceful, so gentle and calm that he looked beautiful to her anyway.

As he began to wake, Christine snuggled into his shoulder, unwilling to be shifted from their moments of serenity, something they had been robbed from long ago.

Erik decided before he opened his eyes that the feeling that he felt at that very moment was the most heavenly he had ever felt. The sunlight, which had been so rejected in his past, woke him gently and kindly, as if in forgiveness to his shunning of its rays. He sighed deeply, opening his eyes and being greeted by an angel, his angel. Christine was lying on her arm, with her curls falling majestically onto the white and terracotta pillows. She smiled at him and sat up slightly, propping herself onto her elbows. The morning light from the window behind her sent a glowing light around her. He had to catch his breath slightly.

"Morning." She whispered, stroking his arm tenderly. He instinctively sent a hand up to his face, as if in realization of his nakedness, not from his body, but his face. But Christine leaned over and kissed him, making him totally forget in an instant. He drank in her scent, curling his fingers in her hair. She laid her head against his chest, letting it rise and fall with his breaths. He stroked her for a while, trailing his hand down the soft skin of her back and neck. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to ruin the perfect moments they were having, so remained silent for a long time, until Christine sat up again. "Are you alright?"

He stared deeply into her chocolate eyes that gazed so lovingly at him, he thought he could weep. "Yes, my love." He half spoke, half whispered. She smiled; the morning light twinkling in her eyes. "Christine?"

"Yes?" She cocked her head to the side in waiting.

Should he dare? Should he dare ask what his heart has always wanted, what she knew he wanted? He was terrified. Terrified one wrong word would send her away once more. If she went away this time, he would defiantly die of heartache. He had had too much of her to let her go. Her safety was his main priority, as it always had been, and his love for her would play a part in that. Asking this one question may save them, or destroy them. He took a deep breath.

"Christine…I ask in the interest of your safety! You would be a lot safer if…if you were to agree."

She looked at him worried and confused. "Agree to what?" He furrowed his head into a frown. How could he ask her? It was so hard! He didn't want to bruise the memory of her precious Vicomte. Not for him, but for her.

"You understand…you know that you are safer with a different name, so I wonder…if…if the idea is not too painful for you…we could…you will..?"

Her eyes widened. He could not see the emotion written there. Confusion, realisation, pain, shock, happiness? Any could be possible. He braced himself for the answer.

Christine felt her heart leap into her mouth. Her mind jumped straight to Raoul, when he had asked her the same thing, so romantically and so secretly, from the man in front of her. Her heart pained at his memory, throbbing violently. Could she betray another loves memory? Yet another emotion also flooded her senses. A feeling she found to be quite pleasant... A saddened joy that the question; so unromantically asked by Erik, had come at such a beautiful time for such sad reasons. She begged against his wishes.

"I will not…" She began. She saw the pain rage terribly in his face, tearing his heart. She regretted choosing those words. She hastily carried on, "…will not if it is safety that you prioritise." He furrowed his brow. She smiled, and pulled herself up close to his lips and whispered. "Tell me you love me first."

His voice cracked with bubbling emotion. He whispered, his lips brushing softly past hers,

"…I love you."

As she kissed him, she muttered through her breaths. "Then…I…I will. I will marry you Erik."

- --

_It must have been a fine house_, Thought a woman, stepping quietly into the morning lit building. The joy of the rays did not lighten the atmosphere of the place, which was old, derelict and eerie. The walls whispered of family's secrets, laughter, births, deaths and wealth that once was. The windows were all boarded up, save the doors, which aloud the sun limited entrance. It was still cool, as the sun had been around less than 20 minutes, but the abandoned house seemed colder than usual. The meeting, of course set a dark light on the place. A woman and a man, maybe a couple, stood waiting in the entrance to the building. They looked tense, casting worried glances around incase of prying eyes. Every passer by they would hide from, yet they would take no notice to the old building, uninhabited for years. This was good. Secrecy is what they wanted. Or what one of them wanted.

"You promised, remember? Just the documents. We get them and leave. That's all I'm helping you with."

The man sneered at the woman, cocking an eyebrow upwards. The woman cast a repulsed look back at him through her dark cloak and veil.

"I promised." He growled. "But if your friend puts up a fight, I can't see any reason not to use this."

Robard pulled out a long silver gun from his waistcoat. Madame Giry swallowed in response. "You see," He continued. "I have no use for wasting time. As log as I know this man has the documents, and then it won't take very long to find them. I don't need him. Killing him won't affect anything. So, you better warn him that resistance will not get him anywhere!"

At that point, someone stepped through the archway, and they both stepped back, startled. It was a woman, dressed in distinct colours of orange and yellow. She had gold dripping from her wrists and neck, and her face was covered by a very deep, angry shade of orange. Her eyes fluttered to Robard, and he sighed and smiled.

"Madame, thank you. I hope your journey here was not too testing."

"Not at all." She replied back in perfect French. It was heavily accented, yet it sounded as formal and as proper as any Parisian woman. "Madame."

She nodded in the direction of Madame Giry, who flung her head back, looking down her nose at the young girl. The girl ignored her and walked to Robard. She was very commanding in her presence, for such a young person. Her confidence echoed in her voice.

"So, Monsieur, you wish for something I have, non?"

Robard smirked and his eyes glittered. Madame felt her heart sink with disgust. How she hated this man. How she hated the way she had dragged her across the world to find something as stupid as documents. She felt such murderous anger towards him for leaving their daughter under the protection of his own henchmen, which she had witnessed almost raping her. She prayed to God she had not done anything to provoke them. She fought back tears angrily, waiting patiently for her time. Her time when this would all be over, and Christine's safety had not been breached by her. She would help find the documents for her own daughter's safety, and Christine would still remain safe for a time, at least.

Her mind fluttered back to all those years ago, almost 12 years ago, when she had arrived at the Opera with a young girl. She had put the girl to bed in her dormitory, wiping her tears as she left her. The little girl had been through so much, Madame Giry could hardly bare to see her in times of fret again. She had to put these documents which her father had trusted to her, somewhere safe. She knew somewhere, or particularly, someone, who would have little trouble keeping them a secret.

Madame Giry had wandered every so carefully down that damp, dark passage way to the lake, where she had took the small gondolier to the inhabited underground. She had found him hunched over his organ, frustratingly scribbling notes of music. He was a young man, in his late 20's; with a tormented face that clashed with his dashing good looks of one side. He had listened carefully to Madame Giry and her proposal.

"Erik, I need you to take care of something for me."

She remembered his raised eyebrow, while she had carried on.

"A small girl, Daae, has come back with me to live in the Opera." She had explained. "Her father was a good friend of mine, and he has left his inheritance to her. Yet it will only pass to her on her 19th birthday, and so I need these documents safe until that time comes. Could you be so kind?"

Erik had snorted, yet took the documents, and the small black box she handed him.

"What's this?"

"That is for her eyes only. I will come for it one day, and I will give it to her."

He had pawed the box carefully, frowning slightly.

"What was the girls name again?"

"Daae. Christine Daae."

Robard and the young woman had been talking for a while, until loggerheads had come.

"Monsieur, I see no benefit for me. If I betray the presence of this man, I could loose more than I gain."

The man frowned. He saw this woman was not interested in money. She could not be bought for the information he needed so much. He had searched this land for weeks, and had no success. He was beginning to loose his patience with Madame Giry, who had sworn that the documents were here, with someone she had confided them with. He had no doubt that she wouldn't lie, her daughters life rested on it, yet, he knew she was hesitant to help completely in finding his whereabouts. She seemed obsessed with the man's safety. When they had arrived in Persia, she had known where about in Persia he was, yet nothing specific. They had had to search the entire city for clues, listening in Kasbahs, cafes, ports, local towns for anything that could give them a clue to the mystery mans hiding place. It was only until Robard had 'found' himself in a brothel, did he overhear 2 young women, talking about a mysterious customer. One of these girls had been particularly upset by it, and seemed keen to get herself involved with the conversation with Robard on finding him for means of threatening. He guessed this man had hurt her in someway. Maybe he could play on that now…

"Is there…anything you want from this man? Anything…I can maybe…arrange for you?" He stroked his gun slyly as he said this. Her eyes twinkled slightly as she realised the power this man had.

He could get the one thing she wanted. Erik. She had been so angry with him, yet so madly in love. Only one person stood in the way. She felt such raging hate towards her, she would do anything to get her out of the way. Maybe this man could be the one who could help Sara…


	22. Into the hands of the Devil

Suddenly, everything was different.

The curtains were pulled back and sunlight was allowed to pour into every corner of the magnificent house. The atmosphere was different, it seemed a lot more relaxed and open. The servants of the household seemed more at ease with the new spirit of the Estate, and would chat loudly and happily with one another. One of the strangest things they noticed, was the more than cheery man they didn't recognise as their master.

Erik had been on a cloud. He wandered around his house proudly, yet less stiffly. He swung his arms when he walked; he smiled to the servants who passed him in the corridors. He worked in his workshop, a low and happy whistle gliding softly out of the shed and greeting the ears who were outside. Something had changed, which none failed to notice.

Erik and Christine spent long hours locked away with each other, and every other time, would not let each other out of their sight for too long. Christine could even be heard singing, with Erik instructing her.

Erik had spent his time worrying about how he could marry Christine. He had sent Nasih away, and he had not returned since the night he had interrupted his 'moment' with Christine, so he could not send him to fetch a local with the power to unite people in marriage. It was also going to be hard with them both being in hiding, inviting unknown people and letting them leave again would certainly arouse suspicious, and their keep could be given away. There was also the problem of recording the marriage, to secure the bank loans over to Erik's name legally. This was going to be no easy feat.

Yet, his worries now had all but shrunk with the deepening love that came with spending every day with his love. There was nothing he could think of doing now but spend his precious time with her, and he knew he had been right to mourn her. Life had been nothing compared to this. They would stay in their passionate embraces all night, and watch the sunrise in the morning. He would no longer have those dreaded moments when he would think that it had all been a dream. He would wake with his face buried in her sweet scented curls, with his arm wrapped around her waist protectively. She moulded into him perfectly. Christine and Erik were one.

- --

Christine let the warm water soak into her hair completely. She curled her toes on the cool tiles beneath her feet, grateful to the wonderful feeling of the luke-warm shower. The master bathroom, leading from Erik's bedroom was a splendid sight. It was tiled all over, with a balcony leading onto the view of the private gardens at the back of the house. The shower was centralised, with a small ankle height wall boarding the waters boundaries. The colours were all of red and gold, giving a deep sensuous feeling to the room. There were mirrors of a Persian design all around, yet had all steamed up due to the running water. The opaque red curtains billowed slightly with the warm afternoon breeze, complimenting the fantastic sunset that was setting in the window. The smell of jasmine trees from the gardens graced the room, with the added delights of the avocado and coconut oils from the shower. Christine smiled into the soft splashes of water on her face, wringing her hair once in a while, and then re-soaking it.

Christine could think of nothing but Erik. He had taken all of her attention before, but now it was so wonderful, she thought she could burst with delight. No matter what pain and what evil had happened, it seemed fate was about to be looking kindly on them both. Her guilt pangs for Raoul had lessened slightly, as much as she missed him, her soul and heart belonged to another. Raoul would forever be a pleasant memory for her, not a persona to dwell on her cruel past. All that mattered now was her love.

She heard something shift behind her. She turned to squint through the mist, and smiled slowly at what she saw. Erik stood, arms folded, and eyes fixated on her. She had playfully told him before hand she was going for a shower, and he had not let her wait too long on her suggestive offer. He drank in the sight of her, silhouette against the stunning backdrop of the Persian sunset. The smells intoxicated his mind with beauty and passion, and he made a few more steps closer to her.

Christine smiled at him, still screened slightly in the mist. She leaned over to pull his arm, so he came almost stumbling into the shower with her. He was still dressed, his white shirt becoming sodden with the running water which cascaded over them both. He had forgotten about his mask recently, only using it when he wandered his house with servants watching on. Christine had forgotten herself of his disfigurement. She was in love with him. Was that all that mattered?

He pressed his lips to her shoulders and ran his hands over her slick body. She closed her eyes at his touch, wrapping a hand in his hair, pulling him closer to her. She pulled his face to hers, locking her lips with his. The water did little to bar any of their kisses, more however it heightened the sensation of pure passion, boarding on erotic.

Christine had begun nimbly removing his trousers, he still enslaved to arousing her with his touch. With their passionate embrace, balance was all but lost, and they soon where kneeling on the cool tiles, then wrapped together in the oblivious stance, Erik sitting with Christine's legs wrapped around his waist. He sat up right, caressing the natural curve in her back and with the other hand, trailing it along her thigh.

Christine pulled her hips closer to him, coming dangerously close to his arousal. She positioned herself slowly, still slightly nervous about their intimacy. When she lowered herself on him, he let out a deep, animalistic groan of pleasure. He buried his face into her neck as she moved on top of him slowly and deeply. Her breathing became shallow and would let out soft cries of passion from her lips. In their last moments, Erik forcefully grabbed her hair, and pulled her lips to his, letting his tongue brush hers, allowing water to run freely between them. Christine trembled in her climax, gasping and digging nails into Erik's back, sending him into his state of euphoria.

They held each other tightly for long time, before Christine pulled back slightly to look up at him, still towering over her though she was seated in his lap. His eyes were so easy to get lost in; she could stare into them for hours.

"I want to stay like this forever." She said to him, water still pouring over her head. He grinned and shielded his eyes from the water with one hand.

"Then we shall. Whatever you desire."

She giggled and placed her head onto his chest. "Well, it won't be fun when we shrivel up, which we will if we sit here any longer!"

He sighed, and lifted her form from him. She liked the fact he could do this. Although his almost inhuman strength scared her sometimes, it felt amazing to be a little overpowered. She felt like a china doll and as light as a feather in his arms. Erik moved from the shower and grabbed a huge fluffy towel from a golden rail. He wrapped it around her, face and all. Her laughs were muffled as she tried to scramble from the layers of the massive towel. Her head finally emerged, hair damp and scruffy, almost twice as long now I was lying uncurled due to the water. She grinned at him and tiptoed to peck a kiss on his cheek, and then walked to the bedroom to get changed. He followed her with his eyes, the loving look still imprinted in his features. He followed her into his bedroom, the beautiful exotic room with its red drapes and gold entwined furniture. Its candle and sunset lit atmosphere was enough to make Erik want Christine all over again. She looked stunning, the ivory towel draped around her golden shoulders and her tightening curls falling graciously down her back. He caught up with her, spinning her round again and kissing her moist lips. Christine smiled into the kiss, and stoked his face on both sides.

"In an hour…" He muttered, "…come to the courtyard. There is something waiting there…you may like…"

He kissed her for the final time, and ran his hands over her shoulders softly. He shivered slightly under his touch, and nodded.

- --

Erik had chosen a red Persian robe, entwined with gold and blue patterns. He had put on a mask, not to hide, just out of habit. No matter how much he resented hiding behind a mask, he had come to like his persona of mystery. He had chosen his black mask for tonight, the one that covered both his eyes. It was detailed with entwining vines of gold, matching his outfit. He looked dashing and powerful, like he always did, but this time, more humane. He walked down the corridors normally, with a swinging of arms, and centre of the walk, not lurking in the shadows which had come to be his norm. Now he had nothing to fear, nothing to hide from, and nothing barring his love for the woman he now made his way towards.

On arriving in the courtyard, he saw the flickers of candlelight first. His gratitude went out to the maids who had set the whole thing up for them. There was a beautiful setting, with a table and chairs in the centre next to the figurine statue in the centre. There was a gazebo with cloths of muslin and roses hanging from the structured roof he had made with his own hands. Candles where everywhere, lighting up the square beautifully in the darkness.

And in the candlelight, he saw Christine. She was facing him directly, her back to the other side of the dark courtyard. She wore a beautiful satin blue dress which hugged her slim figure perfectly, and her curls where pulled back loosely, cooling in the warm night. Erik smiled at the sight of her, and walked further towards her.

"Christine…I'm…"

She looked up at him. His heart stopped.

Pure fear was scarring her face, tears glistening in her eyes, and her lips parted slightly, allowing her sharp panicked breaths to escape. Sometimes she even whimpered, and Erik could now see she was trembling. For a brief moment, he knew that was it. She had realized it was all a mistake and she didn't want to be here with him. She had made the wrong decision and was going to leave him. But this time, he would surely die of a broken heart. He could not survive knowing he had her, only to loose her once more. Not after she had given him her heart, soul and body only to rip it cruelly from his chest. He would die, and he knew it.

That was, until he heard a voice. Not Christine's, but the cold, harsh voice of a man.

"Strange, that after my search, I would find the girl I hunted in the hands of a murderer!"


	23. Schemes

**Notes: I know this is taking me soooo long, but I keep getting distracted! Mostly from my exams, but I keep getting ideas for other stories, then I had to write some chapters of them down before I forget them! I'm so sorry to all of you that like this story, but I PROMISE I will continue! There is no way I am giving up on it! Nadxxx**

A tall man, with horrible glistening eyes stepped out from the shadows. His arm was out stretched, pointing a gun in Erik's direction. He was an older man, yet still had the hint of youth sprinkled through his greying hair. His face was illuminated with mad delight and hunger. He walked slowly from behind Christine, to stand at the side of her.

"The headlines read, "_THE PHANTOMS FINALIE. Hundreds die after the mysterious collapsing of the grand chandelier, causing the destruction of the Opera Populaire._" Well, monsieur, I must congratulate you! You're a man after my own… or should I say _our_ own ambitions!"

He chuckled, holding out his other hand to shake with Erik's, never lowering is gun. Erik transfixed the man with a murderous stare. He was shaking with rage, and he had to resist all temptations to fly at the man in a fit of anger, which would certainly spell death to him. Yet he didn't care, all he could think of was how he had let Christine down. She would have been better off not coming here for safety. She had walked right into danger. And he knew why. How could he have been so stupid!

"You know why I am here, don't you my friend?" Pulling back his hand. He put an arm around Christine's waist. Erik felt himself move forward slightly, and then catching himself again. No man should dare touch her apart from himself.

"Get your fucking hands off her." Erik hissed. Christine herself pushed herself away from him, and the man laughed.

"Oh dear, you two have only got yourselves to blame! You know I wouldn't have found her if it wasn't for you! You sir, truly are a murdering genius, aren't you?"

Erik bowed his head from Christine's confused gaze. He couldn't face her. He had betrayed her whereabouts and she would die.

_Stop it, Erik! You can save her, your not giving up now!_ The voice in his head called to him angrily. He didn't care if he got wounded, he had to save her. But the man was pointing his gun at Christine now, and he dare not flinch in case he pulled at the trigger. He would have to wait for the opportune moment.

"Has he not told you?" The man spotted Christine's confused gaze at Erik, who had not taken his eyes from the intruding man.

"…Erik…told me what?"

Erik felt himself choke up. "I…I have…"

"He is the guardian of your documents!" The man flared up in glee, taking the story for his own. "He was entrusted with them years ago when you were only a baby, and now, there whereabouts have led me right to you, my dear! What a stoke of luck, eh?"

The man threw his head back in murderous happiness. It made Christine feel shivers down her spine.

As Erik saw him loose focus in his laughter for a moment, he charged at the man. All too suddenly, he regained his sanity, and saw Erik lurching towards him at frightening speed.

Christine screamed as a gunshot sounded throughout the courtyard.

Erik fell to the floor, clutching his shoulder. Blood began to seep over his hands, and Christine began to weep at the sight of the staining of his hands.

"Don't try anything like that again!" The man became angry, and pushed the gun cruelly into Christine's back. "I will kill her slowly, and make you watch. How does that sound?"

Erik felt dizzy with the pain, yet regained his stance standing up. He fixed Christine with a look of such sorrow and failure, her heart broke.

"Oh my, you must excuse my manners! I have not properly introduced myself. I am Monsieur Robard." He gave a small bow to both of them. Christine felt a familiar memory coming back to her, yet she could not pin point exactly what. Had she heard that name before? "It's been a long, hard search for you, Miss Daae! I have waited a very long time for my money."

"You can have the damn money!" Christine now shouted angrily. She didn't care about the inheritance; he could take it for all she cared. All she wanted was Erik. They could easily live off his wealth.

"Tut tut, you must remember you can't start handing out your money till you come of age! Until then, all I need is the documents and your death. And very helpfully, it's all fallen into place!"

He began pacing; obviously enjoying the story he was so involved in.

"You see, Miss Daae, you wouldn't be in so much danger if it wasn't for your father. If he had just given the money to its rightful owner, then your death could have been avoided!"

"What do you mean?" Christine asked, half quietly and half with an angry undertone. She always kept one eye on Erik, who was trying to ignore his seeping wound, yet she could see there was pain sodden through his eyes.

"Your father…was once a dear friend of mine, Mademoiselle. I am surprised you do not remember me! My wife and I looked after you and your father when he was very sick. You don't remember Madame Giry?"

Madame Giry! So that was why she could remember his name! The man who had abandoned Madame Giry and Meg, and found himself in jail. Why now had he come to her? He voiced her questions.

"I took care of your father for endless weeks, and received nothing in return! Nothing, not a single franc! Your father deserved to die in such a painful way! I deserved that inheritance!"

"Don't you dare talk of my father like that!" She screamed at him. He turned to her, sending her heart quailing. He fixed her with such a murderous blazing stare, it silenced her.

"Your father ruined me! And now, he shall be punished with your death. I'm only sorry it had to be you. You're such a beautiful creature...shame."

He stroked her face softly, but she knocked it out of the way. He smiled triumphantly.

"As a matter of fact, I may as well ruin both your lives while I am here. I will be taking your account too, Monsieur," he indicated to Erik. ", that you will be so kindly handing over to me."

Erik hissed. "Just take mine and be gone! Or death will not stop me in hunting you down. I will kill the very soul of you."

Although Robard held the upper hand., he felt Erik's words cut through him, making him believe what he said. He shivered slightly

"No no, this is too personal to be ignoring the Daae inheritance! That one is rightfully mine anyway. Yours will be an added bonus!"

"You will leave him alone!"

The voice came from behind Robard. A gun was pointed at his head by a woman who was stood behind him. Robard seemed to freeze, and his neck stiffened upright. He turned slowly.

The woman moved into the light of the courtyard, illuminating her ethnic beauty.

"Sara?" Erik half whispered. She looked over to him lovingly, then furiously back at Robard.

"Did you hear what I said?" She shouted a little more in her heavily accented French. "Lower your gun from him!"

Robard did turn his gun, but continued to point it at Christine.

"Whoever your little friend is, Monsieur," Robard hissed. ", she cannot make me give up what's rightfully mine!"

He lunged at Christine, catching her from behind, and clawing her neck, pushing the gun into her temple. Christine remained silent, yet a tear fell from her wide fearful eyes.

Sara stood forward to Erik side, who was stooping slightly from pain.

"Take the girl, and leave him." She nodded her head back to Erik. "You don't need him, George Robard."

Robard looked strangely at the woman. He frowned at her, then began to pull Christine into the darkness.

"NO!" Roared Erik. He ran forward, but was stopped abruptly, strangely by Sara's gun.

"Don't you see?" Sara pleaded desperately. "Its either her or both of you?"

"What are you doing here Sara?" He growled in the native Persian. "Why are you here?" For the first time, he actually looked at Sara that night, confusion, anger, desperation all clear in his eyes.

"I came to say sorry!" She clung to his shirt, lifting a hand up to his face. "To say sorry for the other night! I…I couldn't bear I had left you like that…Erik, we share a special bond, you and I! Please let don't break it…Ill…I will help you through this!"

"Help me by getting out of my way!"

He pushed her roughly, while Sara screamed, threatening him with her gun, cocking it dangerously. He froze, staring curiously at her.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Erik…you should be with me! I love you! Please don't die on her account!"

"You love...?"

Suddenly he stopped talking. His eyes flitted from Christine to Robard and back to Sara. He seemed to think over something around and around in his head, and he paced from one foot to the other.

Christine had felt like fainting on more than one occasion. He fear had swelled to her mouth, and she could hardly whimper without it sounding chocked. Erik was in a dangerous position, and so was she. In a moment, Meg's father would become bored with this little show, and shoot her anyway, and force the grieved Erik to give up the documents. He would probably shoot Erik too just to keep him quiet. Why wasn't he doing that? It would look obvious enough, when someone found them. Christine returning to her former singing tutor and he had murdered her out of rage, and turned a gun on himself. Would that be so hard? Why was Robard watching this charade?

And Erik seemed to be pondering something furiously. Sara had just admitted that she loved him…no…he wouldn't…he wouldn't let Robard take her so he could live with Sara…could he even be considering it?

Erik looked at Sara for a long time. He walked up to her slowly, and took her gently by the shoulders. Sara smiled at him, and whispered his name, lowering her gun.

Erik, seeing his chance at her lowered gun, struck her. She screamed, hitting the wall hard behind her. Erik quickly picked up her gun, and pointed it at her. Sara turned, her nose running freely with blood.

"Erik…WHY?" She cried, screaming angrily.

"You lying bitch!" He raged, pulling back the hammer of the gun. Sara stopped screaming and looked terrified at the new, furious, out of control Erik she had never seen before. The Erik Christine remembered all to well.

"I…I don't know what your…"

"You told him were I was! You knew she was here! You're a scheming little rat, you were going to trade Christine's life for me, and looking…making it look like you saved me!"

"I came here to say sorry!"

"THEN HOW THE FUCK DID YOU KNOW HIS NAME?"

Sara stopped dead. Had she let his name slip? It didn't matter now, Erik knew their little scheme. Sara should have known that he was cleverer than what she had planned him to be, but she would have tried at any attempt to get Erik back.

Sara cowered on the floor, attending to her running nose. Erik turned to Robard and Christine.

"You pull that trigger, and I will blast your head off." Erik spat. Robard had a streak of fear masking his face, yet he pulled Christine tighter in.

"Well, Monsieur, it seems we are at a stalemate."


	24. Spirited Away

They stood for what could have been hours, shouting and whispering threats. It had all become so clear to Erik now, Sara disappearing with a stranger a few nights before, the remaining threats she sent to him before leaving, and the admitting of her love for him which he knew only too well, that love makes you do very stupid things.

All he could do now though, was watch Robard carefully, watch every move he made. One tiny slip up and he would shoot. But he could hit Christine…what could they do?

Robard had backed up, dragging Christine with him, out of the courtyard and down corridors. Erik followed him patiently, always waiting for an opportunity to blast his head. Yet he gave him no such chance, always cleverly masking himself with Christine's body.

Robard would not take the chance at firing at Erik. He had promised the bargain with Sara that he would not touch Erik, yet they had been found out. Now, Erik was in such a rage, if Robard shot, he wasn't sure if Erik would fire back, hitting Christine or not. The bullet would easily fly through her and hit him.

Robard's pace became quicker, and his breathing started to become raged. He moved backwards down the corridors quickly, tripping sometimes, but quickly throwing Christine in front of him.

"Step back!" He screamed, throwing his arm over Christine's shoulder, pointing a shaky hand at Erik. "You are too close, I will shoot!"

Quickly, Christine snapped out of her submissive role. She grabbed his arm and clung to it desperately, as Robard cried out angrily and fired his gun. But Erik had already dodged to the side, missing the bullets by inches.

He tackled Robard, causing Christine to fall to the ground hard. Ignoring the pain, she lifted herself up to see the two men wrestling furiously. Erik was certainly heavier built than the other man, yet Robard seemed to have a hidden strength in his thin frame. They both grasped each others wrists furiously in an attempt to wrench the guns from their grip. Erik finally pushed Robard into the wall of the corridor, and slammed his hands above his head. He smashed his hand holding he gun mercilessly against the hard surface, making him drop the gun in pain.

Erik grabbed him by the throat and pinned him against the wall. He was going to kill him, and not make it fast and painful.

Robard flickered his eyes in lack of air. He chocked a few times, before slumping to the floor as Erik dropped him in pain. Robard had kicked him sharply in the groin area, causing Erik to double over.

Robard stood above him, holding a gun with his trembling hand that he had quickly picked of the floor.

"Nice try, Phantom, but I've won! Once in my life, I have won!"

He laughed as a maniac, before cocking the hammer of his gun and pointing it directly at Erik's head.

Christine screamed as two shots fired through the air. She shut her eyes and felt nausea sweep over her. She felt blood spray over her arms and face from the victim. She sobbed as she heard the body slump to the floor. Her Erik…her angel…

Wait…wasn't Erik already forced to the floor?

She opened her eyes to see a shaken looking Nasih stood above them. He dropped his hands that held his gun outright, and dropped it to the floor. Erik shuffled over to Christine, who felt relief sweep over her in a magnificent form. She sobbed into Erik's chest, and Erik stroked her back and head comfortingly, his form shaking with pain.

"I'm sorry…" He muttered. His voice shook with emotion and, surprisingly to Christine, terror. He had been scared witless, not for his own life, but for Christine's.

Nasih bent down over them both. He seemed out of breath and was shaking slightly.

"Are you hurt?"

Christine stood up quickly, trying to help Erik up. It was terribly alarming to see the dark stain near his chest grow bigger, and his breaths were becoming shallower.

"I'm ok, Nasih, but Erik's hurt! Help me!" She said hysterically. Nasih made to help, yet looked over his shoulder quickly.

"Listen, your not out of trouble yet…some maids heard the commotion…and well…they've broke their promise of secrecy…Master…"

Erik looked down at him as he was helped to his feet. He looked at him with deep concern.

"Nasih? What is it?"

Nasih seemed on the verge of panic. Surprisingly, and alarmingly, he gave Erik and Christine a look of pity.

"Sir…the police have surrounded the house…the call was just a panic alarm for a burglary, but when they described who lived here…well sir, they know its you…it seemed the Parisian police have alerted them of your…actions in France…and…"

Nasih trailed off. Christine had slumped into Erik's form in silent tears. Erik was clinging to Christine desperately.

"Erik…" She muffled into his chest. "Erik…what are we going to do? You…you will be caught!"

Erik didn't answer. Today was the day. Today was the day he would finally fall from his steps ahead of authority. If the police had surrounded the grounds, there was no way of escape. This was his judgement day. He had lived to save Christine only to sacrifice himself.

He moved silently away from Christine, pulling himself out of her grip.

"Where are you going?" She cried, tears streaming her beautiful skin. He did not stop walking, even when she screamed his name, even when she ran and clung to his arm, unsuccessfully trying to stop him.

"NO, NO, NO! ERIK STOP!" She screamed hysterically. "You can't, you can hide in here…Me and Nasih will go!"

"Don't you think they will search the house?" He roared back. She stumbled back from his outburst. "They know I'm here, Christine…I can't run from this…Christine..."

She ran once more into his arms, and savoured each moment she could. She could feel his large form trembling, and she felt her heart quiver to know he knew fear.

"I love you…I love you so much…I cannot live without you!" She whispered. He shushed her softly, entwining his fingers in her curls.

She jumped as she heard a crowd of voices down the hallway. Her eyes widened, and she gripped Erik's shirt tightly, in a mad hope she would never part from him, and it would be impossible for anyone to prise them apart.

The noise came closer, and she sobbed quietly into his chest.

In her last moments of sanity, she felt the warm of Erik's body being ripped from her own cruelly. She let out a blood curling scream, as she witnessed what seemed like hundreds of men dragging Erik down the corridor away from her. He wriggled to turn back and look at her, and his voice was the last thing she heard before she fainted with shock.

"Nasih, take care of her!"

>--

Christine woke fully to loud shouts and noises. She shook her head groggily, and looked around the room. She had never been in this room before. She didn't recognise anything apart from the sleeping form of Nasih on a couch on the other side of the room.

She was suddenly fully awake, her heart filling with agonising loss and confusion. She ran to the open window to see crowds of people in a large city in front of her. It seemed like a bigger city than that of Shiraz, where Erik's house was. It was hot and bustling, full of markets and people.

Christine ran over to Nasih and shook him unkindly. He woke, opening his eyes slowly due to the brightness of the room. She ignored his mumbling.

"Nasih, where's Erik? And where are we? Nasih!"

"Whoa, Christine…" Nasih sat up and rubbed his eyes. Christine kept plucking at his shoulder till he answered. "We're in Tehran, capital of Persia."

"And Erik?" She said, almost hysterically. Nasih sighed.

"Prison."

Christine slumped onto the couch with Nasih in defeat. She put her hands over her face and Nasih put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You've been out cold for a long time. You woke up a few times, yet not with senses."

Christine did recall some memory of waking in a carriage, having a cloth applied to her head, and hushed and worried voices over her babbling.

"Is the prison near?"

Nasih nodded his worried head. "Yes, that's why I brought you…" He didn't finish his sentence due to Christine's sobs. Nasih couldn't do anything but let her carry on her grieving. No one deserved this amount of pain, especially two lovers who had been united once more, only to be cruelly wrenched from each other again. He felt his heart breaking.

He lifted her head softly and wiped her tears away. Her eyes didn't focus on him at all, until he muttered something out of his emotion riddled voice.

"Ill take you to him, Christine."

>--

Erik hadn't struggled. He allowed the heavily armed men to push him roughly into a large carriage, which was locked from the outside. Men rode back and front of the carriage, guarding his every escape. Even if he could break down the door, he would almost certainly be shot. He wasn't going to take his chances of not seeing Christine again.

After what seemed a life time, the carriage came to a halt. He had been sweltering in the carriage, as it was a mid day sun pounding into the tiny barred windows. He felt dizzy as the large men dragged him out into the sun light, only to be shoved back into darkness.

The prison was not a nice place. Erik could hear screams and pleas echoing around as he passed each cell. Men threw out their arms to the prison guards who cruelly knocked their hands back.

Erik was thrust into the furthest cell to the back. It was damp and hot, with a small dirty mattress on the sodden floor, and a broken sink. The smell was unbearable, and the darkness was hard to adjust to, although Erik had been accustomed to the darkness before, and his eyes adjusted clearly.

He slid down the wall onto the mattress, and put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He pawed at the black mask he had worn for that supposed special evening with Christine. His skin was sticky and itchy under it, yet he refused to take it off. There was no privacy in this prison, everyone could see into each others cell. Erik's cell, which he was thankful for, was in shadow, and so hid him from sight from the others.

All Erik could think about was Christine. What danger he had put her in, what danger laid ahead for her without him by her side. His fist shook, and he trembled with anger. He wished he could have been the one to shoot Robard. He wouldn't have just shot him, he would have pulled every tooth and nail from his body one by one and left him hanging by his neck, with his insides pouring from him slowly.

Suddenly awakening from his bloodthirsty dream, a shadow stood at the bars of his cell. Erik stood up, and walked slowly towards it. It was a man, pleasantly dressed, and blatantly not from the Middle East. His once white skin was red around his cheeks and nose, and his handlebar moustache twitched uncomfortably in the Persian heat. He was almost half of Erik's height, and Erik towered over his frame, making him step back slightly from the bars.

"Bonjour, Monsieur." He spoke in French. Erik didn't react, fixing him with an icy stare. The small man coughed nervously. "As spokes person for the Parisian Operative Army and Police force, I have come to…explain the situation you have found yourself in."

Again, no response.

"Well, sir, we are most grateful, in fact, for the capture of George Robard. We were alerted of his intentions by a friend of yours I understand, Madame Giry? Well…again sir, a good capture and service you have paid to the police. Yet…"

Ahh, there it was. Nothing would ever amount to the debt he had to pay back.

"…your…charade in Paris has not made you a popular man, Monsieur. The penalty for the deaths caused by yourself…carries the death penalty."


	25. Love with never Separate

Nothing.

What a surprise. He felt nothing. No fear, anger, remorse, not even curiosity. It even seemed his mind had not processed what the sergeant had just said.

Death.

No, still nothing. All that played on his mind was that of Christine. Christine moving gently through the trees of his garden, her soft tinkle of laughter, her adoring eyes which warmed him to the core. Death would be a mere hitch in his devotion to her. Death would never keep him away. After all, he had been a ghost before…

"…You will be taken back to Paris for your trial and execution."

Erik did and said nothing. He continued to stare icily at the man. The police officer looked away nervously from him. "I will return in a day or two, when your train will be waiting."

The messenger disappeared into the darkness, the shouts and pleas of men from neighbouring cells following him as he walked away.

Death.

Death was what waited for him in Paris.

Well, death was his old master. Now he would finally meet It face to face. What irony. To be reunited with his angel, only to be throw to hell for it. God certainly was no friend of the Devil. He had no mercy for the merciless.

Erik chuckled to himself.

"You know, you would think after this, I would hate you! Were you just showing me what heaven was like? So you could punish me even more by showing me that's what I can't have? Well, sir," His voice grew with his anger, from muttering to full on screaming. ," your sick plan failed! I would never trade my moments with her for anything! Not my life, not my music, not my features, not my death! I'm glad I would be spending eternity in Heaven with a bastard like you…"

The entire lower cell block had fallen into silence. Only the faint rustle of clothing or the scuffling of a mouse could be heard. The cell inmates stopped whatever they were doing in their state of frustration and desperation, and froze to listen to the last outcry of a madman. The outcry they had all been through. Sometimes they were shouts of regret, shouts of sorrow and mercy, screams of innocence, but never a scream of blasphemy such as this had been heard ringing through the dead mans chamber.

Amidst the silence, footsteps could be heard. Soft padding footsteps on hot baking tiles of the prison corridor.

Erik had slumped to the floor in anguish and despair, resting his head against the only cool source of the bars. He breathed raggedly, sometimes admitting high pitched moans of sorrow and loss.

He didn't notice the figure kneeling opposite him through the bars, until it reached out and touched his hung face. It was a beautifully soft hand, cool and comforting. It cupped his jaw line, and raised his head away from the obedient gaze to the floor.

"Erik…" A soft voice, the beautiful soothing voice of an Angel travelled from the heavenly sight he saw before him. He felt such sadness wheal up inside of his chest, that tears began to blur his vision. He rubbed them away fiercely, not wanting to loose sight of his Christine.

"Erik…my love…" Tears spilled down out of her own eyes, running down her neck. She reached feverishly into the cage to hold what she could of him. He pressed himself painfully into the bars o savour every moment he could with her. His arms wrapped around her small frame from his still sitting position. She knelt, her knees crushed against the bars, and her shoulders bruising slightly from the force of the embrace.

The felt nothing of the pain, but a mixture of regained loss and pitiful gain. Erik stroked her auburn curls fondly, and brought her face closer to the barrier, so he could just about reach a kiss to her lips. He tasted her salty tears that lingered there, and wiped away the remaining of her tears on her cheeks, yet could do nothing of their constant flow.

"Shhh…don't cry, Christine. I'm here now."

He could think of little else to say. He couldn't sooth her with words of the future, how everything was going to be ok, because inevitably, to wasn't.

Christine sniffed a few times before gazing up at him from her now slumped position on the floor, resting her body weight into the bars and straining her arms through to hold him.

"You…you can get out of this, cant you? Your…you must!"

Erik looked at her with nothing but sorrow swimming in his aquamarine eyes. He knew what she wanted. Another miraculous escape like the one from the Opera House. Where his magician skills where put to their ultimate test. But this was not the Opera. This was not where he had grown accustomed to and knew every loose chain in the link. It seemed like this was a one route trip.

"I've been caught, Christine…and, damn myself for admitting it, but I deserve everything I get!"

"No!" She implored parallel to a fresh wave of tears. "No you don't! You didn't mean to…it was an accident! Tell them it was an accident!"

"Christine, please…you, I, and the whole of France knows it wasn't. I did intend to kill. It was my last sick sense of comfort, to inflict loss on those who hadn't lived with it like I had. I played God only to meet him."

Christine hadn't heard the last part due to her sobs. Erik frowned, still stroking her head softly and gently.

"I don't know what I will do! I…I can't live, I can't breathe without you! I can't go on…"

He jerked her head upright none to gently, and bore her with an angry stare.

"Don't you dare speak of such things. All I have lived for is your safety and welfare, all your life! Don't throw it back in my face by making me the cause."

Christine whimpered under his harsh grip, and placed her hands on his that held her face. She closed her eyes as he relaxed his grip, and she brought his fingers to her swollen lips. She kissed them softly, torturing him, setting fire to his soul. He let his fingers wander over her cheeks and eyelids, brushing her so softly, a lesser fair person would have felt nothing. Christine could have sworn she saw tears fall behind that dark mask.

"Christine…" He whispered. She fluttered her eyes open to him, and his heart stopped to focus all his attention on those huge doe like eyes. "…I don't want you there…don't you come back to Paris. It's still too dangerous for you, and I…I don't want you to see…"

She hung her head in sorrow. "There is no danger…"

He looked at her confused. She looked past him, maybe at happier times in her memory that would take her away from this painful moment.

"…the danger…past today. It's…my birthday today. I'm 19"

Erik said nothing but held her once more. Of all fate could do to them was give them one more day, and maybe his mess wouldn't have happened. One more day, and Robard would have no legitimate claim. Even muttering a 'happy birthday' would have been an insult to the whole situation.

Fate, it seemed, was not too fond of the couple that lay helplessly on the floor of a baking cell under the glaring rays of a Persian sun, absorbed in their own loss of a kind future.

No more words were exchanged, not even as their time ran out together. Their looks said all that words would never.

Love will never separate us.


	26. Journey West

**NOTES: ok, updating a lot more frequently now. I would just like to say a HUGE thank you to all my faithful readers who religiously post reviews. I adore getting them, so please review when you read plz! The story is going through a sad spell again, and there is more to come I promise you! Nad xxxx**

Two days past, and to his honest words, the sergeant came for Erik. It was an unusual cloudy day, yet Erik still had to shield his eyes from the light when he was dragged out, which had been deprived of him for the days in prison.

It took the courage of 9 large, scowling men to bring Erik from his cell. Although he was only one man, it seemed his presence made another man doubtful of his own strength. His intimidating manner of standing perfectly poised, chin outright and eyes ahead, keeping his gaze vacant and untouched, gave a sense of mystery and awe. Even in his dirty clothes, his unshaven face and his chains, he looked nothing less than a man of power mixed with danger.

One again, Erik was loaded into the back of a carriage, another cell. He had just enough time to see that there were a few carriages around his own, and once they were on the move, he could hear them rambling behind his.

The journey put Erik into an exhausted state. It wasn't the way he had to hold himself steady every time the carriage jerked violently, sometimes sending him crashing into the walls, it was the sleeplessness he had found himself in, he couldn't tell if it was day or night, but Christine kept him awake with her last lingering touch of her lips after she had left from her visit the day before. He felt in and out of an uneasy sleep as his limp body was flung about the carriage ungracefully…

Christine had seen Erik loaded into the prison like carriage from her own. She had jumped out quickly from the door, and ran towards the large men. They held out their arms to block her from going near Erik's carriage.

"We cannot let anyone near." One man spoke, quite roughly in French. " He dangerous prisioner."

"No, no I must…please! Let me past!"

Christine struggled against them, but was held back with ease. They repeated their orders to keep people away, and held her at an arms length. There were to many people about for her to begin shouting his name, any quieter than a shout and he would not have heard her. She herself didn't want to be lock away for madness.

She sighed, frustrated and upset. The carriage which held Erik had already begun to roll away along with his escorts. She jumped back into her own carriage, that clambered after the trail.

The journey had been a day towards the edges of the Persian boarders. There had been chaos in the town where the train station lay, as the police tried to clear the gathered crowds, now with their interests flared, gathering more spectators. Christine and Nasih failed to get through the crowds to get a glimpse of Erik, and they failed to get past any guard that was posted near his train carriage.

Christine had reluctantly been pulled into a small cabin room by Nasih. She pleaded with him to let her go and see Erik, but he argued back.

"Wait till the crowds go down and the trains pulls away. You might be allowed to see him properly then."

She gave in, and remained silent for the remainder of the day. The train waited a long time in station for any late passengers, and it was a mail train that would be taking the new Mont Cenis railway tunnel through the Alps, which meant it carried a lot of business travelers that needed to be waited for.

Finally at sunset, the train pulled out. It had been running for less than 10 minutes before Christine had barraged her way to the back of the train.

Nasih had managed to pack a few clothes for her and Erik, which Christine took with her in a bag. The police who guarded Erik's carriage inspected it thoroughly before letting her pass. Finally, they opened the prison like carriage door to allow her to enter.

Erik was seated upon a shelf like seat that protruded from one of the walls. His head lay slumped in his hands, and his dark hair fell in-between his fingers. Christine felt a lump rising in her throat at the sight of him. His shirt was torn in places and his clothes were dirty and dishevelled. What Christine saw that shocked her the most, was the mask he wore, was discarded next to him. The black ebony mask that covered both sides to Erik's face, the one he had worn at their performance all those months back of Don Juan, lay forgotten.

Her heard her padding footsteps over the rattling of the train's wheels on steel tracks, and looked up, quickly covering one side of his face with a hand, then dropping it slightly in seeing who it was. The other hand had followed in his action, as both his hands, and feet, where chained together. They rattled unceremoniously as he stood to greet her.

Christine flew into his chest, yet back away at a wince and grunt from his throat. The bullet wound in his shoulder, which had been ignorantly bandaged, still caused him a great amount of pain. She stood on tiptoe to catch his lowerlip between her own, and touch his rugged face with her soothing hands. She then began to unload the content of her bag.

Erik watched her rummage furiously in her bag passively. He sat down again, his heart heavy, and his mind blurred. She quickly had returned to his side, holding a bundle of fresh clothes and bonds.

"Let me get this off…I need to look at your wound. Did they get the bullet out?"

"Yes…"

Christine began to help him out of his worn out shirt, ripping it at the cuffs to avoid tangling with the chains. She peeled back the scruffy looking bandages, dark with blood stains to see his ugly wound. She gritted her teeth and began to wipe it clean with a clean cloth. He growled every so often, yet did not cower from her touch. She finally bandaged the wound properly, and sat still.

"Thank you." He muttered. She said nothing in response. After a few minutes of silence, she moved over to him and rested her head on his chest, and closed her eyes. He sat patiently, looking down at her auburn crest of curls, and enjoying the soft feeling against his tortured body.

He gently swung his legs over onto the rest of the seat; bring Christine with him by putting his chained wrists over her head into an embrace. He lowered himself into a lying position, and let Christine lay across him.

What bliss it would have been in more pleasant times? And what a life he could have led if he was to have this every morning and night, every time he awoke and slept! Life was only going to allow him this through strife, and very little. It would do. This is how he would have chosen to live out the rest of his days. Erik supposed he was grateful. He drifted off into an uneasy slumber.

--

The arrival at Paris had taken much less time than the journey by boat. The only major stop they had was at Venice, and only that had meant a transfer of trains to France in the space of a few hours.

Christine had a million times considered stopping the train by the emergency stop handle, or reporting an accident that had not happened, or claiming to be frightfully ill and resulting in stopping the train. None of these ideas were ever put into practice, as they were thought out properly, none would have resulted in any major delay.

So the days drew even closer.

Christine sat near an open window in a small abode in the centre of Paris. It looked out onto the river, which was pleasing, but Christine saw none of it. Her features had turned dark and her eyes sallow and lifeless. She rarely spoke or ate, despite Nasih's temptings.

Only her short visits to Erik would ever give her reason to get up from her seat in Nasih's small hotel room.

It seemed the darkness that had once consumed Christine was threatening to take over once again. The deep darkness she had fell into when Erik had been dragged from her life before had begun to take a grip on her dieing soul. Her life had been ebbing away each day, each day that drew nearer to _that_ day.

"It seems to be nothing wrong, or the cause of her declining health has nothing to do with illness. It seems only time and rest may help ease any discomfort Mademoiselle Daae is having."

Nasih sighed heavily. The 3 doctors he had sent for to examine Christine had all told him the same thing. There was nothing they could do. She was not _physically_ sick. It was much worse than that. This time though, one did voice a difference.

"Depression is not something she needs right now." Said the underweight doctor, who looked solemnly at Nasih. There was no doubt this doctor knew about the whole story of the Phantom and his recent capture. No doubt he knew what role Christine played in the whole story too. "I cannot explain fully, as my patients confidentiality comes first, but I'm sire she can explain the seriousness of this situation if she sees fit. Don't put any more pressure on her though."

Nasih thanked the doctor for his time, and showed him out. More serious than what he saw everyday in Christine's eyes. No, this situation couldn't get any worse…could it?

Nasih entered Christine's room with a soft knock, only to see her state, weeping uncontrollably into the palms of her hands.

"Christine…what's happened?"


	27. The Trial

**NOTES: omg, I just watched the film 'Dear Frankie', the Scottish film with Gerry Butler in. Now I remember why I think he so darn gorgeous! If you haven't seen it, go buy or rent, it's such a nice little story, and Gerard meets his sexy mystery man persona :) sorry, back to the fic…this has elements of the past in that don't exactly fit with the movie, so don't start ranting at me that Giry met Erik as child, cause here, she didn't :) **

**- --**

"Please state your name for the whole court to hear!"

There was an extremely long pause.

"Monsieur? Your _full _name please!"

It meant nothing to him anymore. His full name meant nothing. It didn't determine who he was, only reminded him of the bastard parents that had flung him out so cruelly as a boy. He cursed himself for ever remembering his family name, which he had so hard tried to push out of his memory.

"Erique Brigaki Djilia."

Fuck that Romany name! How it burnt his tongue to utter it once more, dragging with it memories of a tortured childhood, cast out by his own flesh and blood. He had spent countless nights wishing hell upon that name. Never in his life apart from now had he ever used it again to label himself. It made blood rise to his face to have to do it now.

"Monsieur Djilia…"

"Erik."

The judge raised a sarcastic eyebrow at him, and let his eyes linger on the man before him.

Erik was looking at his feet, not his usual proud self. You could hear the grinding of his teeth with shame and humiliation. For he stood, in front of an entire court of people, without his mask.

They had not let him enter into court with his mask without explanation. Probably to lower his defence and rise up an outcry against his appearance. No one would forgive a monster.

Christine sat in between Madame Giry and Meg, who had found her and Nasih a few days back. Both women were shaken by what had happened, and had sobbed to see Christine still alive. Madame Giry had returned home after Robard had found Sara to get Meg from his men in Paris. Meg still clung to her mother desperately every time they walked anywhere, and had become profusely quiet. Meg grasped onto Christine's hand tightly, as Erik's case began.

"Monsieur…Erik." The judge added with a slight hint of sarcasm. "You have been charged with the act of kidnap, arson, attempted murder, terrorism, man slaughter, and murder. How do you plead?"

"Guilty."

A murmur ran through the court, in hushed, but generally loud voices. The judge brought his hammer down to silence all.

"Monsieur Gene, if you would?"

The tall, skinny man, who barely fitted in his suit, stood up and straightened his jacket. He was the defendant, a top lawyer, yet probably on the loosing side of course. This didn't matter, all the lawyers in France had wanted a piece of this trial, loosing or not, you were going to be in every newspaper the next day.

He strode over to the jury.

"The man you see before you, is a tortured man. Just look…" He swung his hand over to Erik, with everyone's eyes following. " A miserable wretch, forced into hiding by his horrendous appearance! The world cast him out, along with morals and dignity."

Erik's knuckles were turning white, as he dug his nails into the palms of his hands in anger. He would be charged for another murder if this man would shut up. Yet, he carried on.

"Is there any wonder that this…_thing_…knew how to act? Does it even know that murder is a crime? Should we be punishing a creature that hardly knows what's going on?"

Erik almost burst with pure venom and hatred. Maybe this was a tactic for Erik's release, maybe a way of casting a sympathy vote out. But the last thing Erik wanted was people looking at him the way they were now, looks of disgust, remorseful curiosity, hatred, and regretful sorrow. His hands and bottom lip were taking he blunt of his frustration, as he clawed his hands and bit his lips furiously, tasting the metallic blood draw from it. His breathing became staggered and almost audible to all in court.

"This man should not be killed inhumanly, but treated for his trouble."

What that meant, was a death far worse than execution. He would live out his days were is arms were made to strap to his body. Where he would be drugged up to the eyes with medicines that would knock his senses dead. He would be locked in a room, with food shoved through a flap on the door. He would end a pathetic dog, a shell, where his soul would forever be trapped in a lifeless body.

Erik knew which death he preferred.

"I call my first witness, Madame Giry, to the stand."

She stood gracefully, and moved ever as a dancer to the stand. She sat perfectly poised, glancing now and then at Erik, who still remained fixated with the floor.

"Madame, please tell the court your previous career before the disaster."

"I was the ballet mistress at the Opera Populaire. I trained the new and old dancers for the up and coming Opera productions."

"And did you enjoy working at the Opera?"

"It was hard work, Monsieur, but I enjoy my lifestyle very much."

"Good, good. So, Madame, tell us, how are you acquainted with…Erik."

Madame Giry paused for a moment to look towards Erik, who raised his eyes to her. He gave away no emotion, just stared. She turned back quickly.

"I…I was first acquainted with him around 16 years ago, Monsieur. He…came to me looking for shelter."

"And did you offer him shelter?"

"Yes, Monsieur. I knew the Opera Populaire was a good hiding place for anyone, so I introduced him to it."

"He took the offer?"

"Yes, he seemed to like the idea of living in a theatre."

"Ahh, yes. The musical genius! Did he ever contribute to the Opera's?"

"Oui, beaucoup de temps, Monsieur. He overlooked rehearsals, gave constructive criticism, gave training…"

"Wait there, one moment, Madame. You say 'training'? Does this have anything to do with a certain Mademoiselle he took an interest in?"

Madame Giry looked over to Christine, who was watching every move Erik made, with one fist over her mouth, and her eyes wide and alert.

"Yes…yes it does."

"And what was the nature of these 'lessons'?"

"Well, Erik coached Mademoiselle Daae in singing, and trained her voice into a magnificent soprano."

"And is it safe to say that these lessons where harmless?"

"I…I believe so, Monsieur."

"Thank you, Madame."

The defence sat down while the other man, the prosecution stood. He coughed and straightened up, and held a very annoying smugness to his features. He looked Madame Giry up and down before beginning.

"Madame. The accused who stands before you, you claim is a musician with nothing to hide but his harmless singing lessons with Mademoiselle Daae."

Madame Giry said nothing.

"Yet, I have reason to believe that the accused ran amuck in the Opera, close to the acts of terrorism. Do you agree?"

Madame Giry inclined her head slightly, fluttering her eyes over to Erik.

"Terrorism, I feel maybe be…a little harsh…"

"But he scared the Opera members witless on a number of occasions!"

A few of the court members nodded their heads furiously in agreement, obviously ex members of the Opera Populaire. Madame Giry, however, disagreed.

"A man in hiding, Monsieur, who hides in the shadows is bound to cause rumours and evoke imagination…."

"Aaa, yes, rumours. But 'rumours' do not hang people from scenery, now do they? And 'rumours' do not bring chandeliers crashing into a stage, killing innocent people and burning down the welfare and homes of countless victims! "

Christine gave a little moan of distress, causing Meg to squeeze her hand tighter. Madame Giry stayed silent, and remained poised and stony faced, yet she lowered her eyes.

"I believe…he was the cause of these disasters, Monsieur."

Madame Giry was asked to take leave of the witness box, and she sat seemingly unaltered by her questioning. She rubbed Christine's knee comfortingly as she sat. Christine was too busy watching the next witness, Monsieur Andre take the stand.

Monsieur Andre and Firmin were both questioned intensely about the time in the Opera, and the deeds that Erik had committed. They spared no tiny detail in condemning the man who had ruined their future and wealth. The ridiculed him, bringing all evidence such as the notes from Erik, other witnesses that had lost family members to Erik's abrupt and selfish decisions.

As Nasih was on the stand, giving evidence to the defence, explaining generously how kind a master Erik was. Christine felt extremely grateful to the man for trying, yet she knew it would do little good. She hadn't known what to think as men yelled insults at her lover, throwing daring accusations at him furiously, and watching women break down in tears for members of their family that had been killed in the Opera fire. Christine didn't know what to do…she felt sorrow for them, yet no resentment towards Erik. To her, his love made everything seem ok, which she knew sounded absurd. She was in love with a murderer. Even she felt guilty for the deaths, as it was her that has caused it indirectly. But love makes no perfect matches. There was no way she was going to betray Erik now. She would never turn her back on him.

"For my next witness, I would like to call…Mademoiselle Daae to the stand."

Christine turned her head in surprise, as her vision had been totally absorbed in Erik's slouched form. As she returned back to her senses, she heard the hectic whispers gathering around the court room, and felt all eyes boring into her as she stood and walked nervously to the front.

**Now, you may think I was a little harsh on the insults in the court case, but Erik, in those times certainly, would have been seen as a freak. I studied thing like this in college and for my exams, in those times, anyone with any disfigurement was not seen as really human, so Erik would have been treated like that, like the Elephant man**


	28. Verdicts

**NOTE: I agree with you Juliana, I studied all about the real life man and his experiences, and I've never seen the film :) so I know Erik wouldn't have been beaten or anything like that, but they were still seen as complete outcasts. Erik I guess would have been seen worse because of all the bad things he did, yeah. Nad xxx**

"Please state your name."

"Christine Annette Daae."

They held out a bible to her to swear that only the truth would come from her answers. She tried to breathe calmly out and slow, but her palms were clammy, and she couldn't keep her eyes concentrated on the 2 men who questioned her. They always kept hovering over to Erik.

The defendant asked her simple questions, like where she was born, when she arrived at the Opera, her life there, when it had ended and how she had felt it the safest option to return to Erik. He played up Christine's knowledge that Erik was a good person, after showing the court what a nice girl Christine was. He asked her about her time in Persia, how he had looked after her. She missed out telling about him chasing her away… It was clever tactics, but it was never going to measure up to the games the prosecution was about to play.

"So Miss Daae, you say you felt safe in the 'accused' presence?"

"Yes, Monsieur I do."

"Indeed, indeed. And so was this…safety demonstrated when you were kidnapped, the time of the fire?"

"I…"

What should she say? No, she had feared terribly for Raoul's life, and mourned she would never see the outside again. But yet, he had never hurt her, or made to harm her.

"…yes. He would never hurt me."

"Yet he sees fit to hurt a whole load of other people?"

"He…it wasn't his fault?"

"I'm sorry Mademoiselle? _Not_ his fault? How is that exactly?"

Christine fell back into that horrible memory were she had ripped the mask from Erik's face and caused him to fall into a great rage. No doubt everyone in court knew about that time too, it had been all over France, telling the story of the terrible disaster, and the moments leading up to it.

"It was my fault, I angered him."

"Oh, I see. So innocent people must die when this man is angered?"

"No…its…its not that."

"Well tell us, Miss Daae, as we all want to know why families must suffer and not see any justice appear from this situation!"

Christine didn't answer. There was no point. There was no point explaining how intense and raw feelings were between them. What did it matter to these people? What did they care that Erik loved her so much he would die without her? What did it matter that she was going to die the moment he did?

The prosecution sighed heavily, seeing the distressed look in the young woman's features. He talked a little more softly in his next questions.

"What happened that night Miss Daae? The night he took you into hiding."

She had tried to block it out of her own mind, and the feeling from that night still haunted her. And she knew it did more with Erik. She felt pained she had to bring back all the images to him, and in front of a whole court.

Christine began with the performance of Don Juan, how see had felt her heart stop when he had appeared on stage. How she hadn't known whether to carry on or not. She told of her rapidly changing mind, should she…shouldn't she? And finally the plan came into being that she would expose him to everyone, who he was. She told of how he had cut down the chandelier in anger, and dragged her down to his lair once more, swearing he would keep her there. She told of how Raoul had turned up, and tried to plead with Erik. She hesitated on his threats, how he was going to kill Raoul of she didn't choose to live down there with him.

Then Christine had told the court how she had made up her mind to stay, and show Erik he wasn't destined to be alone if he had realised that his disfigurement had not been something people where afraid of, rather his unruly, aggressive side. She told how she had kissed him, and how he had turned them both away, asking for forgiveness and to be alone. She left out the leaving of the ring with him, and the moment in his chamber. That was not a memory she wished to share.

The court had fallen in complete silence. Christine saw eyes moving from her to Erik, who was breathing heavy, looking at his feet. Even the judge and the lawyers gaped at her.

"M…Mademoiselle, thank you. You may sit down."

Christine gave Erik an unreadable look as she sat, which he returned to her. A few whispers followed her, and a few people shifting in their seats to stare. No doubt her whole personal life would be in the papers tomorrow. She didn't care. All she was concentration on, was the moment everyone had been waiting for…as the prosecution called out…

"I called the accused…Erik Djilia to the stand."

He moved silently to the stand. Almost too silently, as his footsteps couldn't be heard even in the silence of the courtroom. It was eerie. He kept his face low and almost on an angle, as if in a last attempt to hide his disfigured side. Christine could see the muscles in his cheeks straining as he clenched his teeth together.

"Erik…how was your childhood?"

He didn't answer.

"…Erik? I need an answer. Was your childhood, say, agg…"

"My father was murdered before I was born, my mother cast me out after beating me every single day of my childhood."

"…Right. And after?"

"Italy. I worked in Italy."

"Did you enjoy it there?"

No answer.

"Ok…what made you come to Paris?"

"A death sentence."

The prosecution raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Where did this come about?"

Erik had spoke through gritted teeth, and Christine could see the whiteness of his knuckles. She sat with a hand across her mouth, wishing for the torment to stop. Erik must have been in hell. Recalling his memories, bring out things he himself had never dared to think of again, and, unmasked, in front of his accusers.

However, he wasn't looking for sympathy or forgiveness. All he wanted was to get this over and done with. Answering the questions would be the quickest way.

He told briefly of his time in Persia, how he had helped the Emir only to receive a death penalty. Some of the court chuckled at his story, and the prosecution had a slight smile on his face.

"…Right…" He said sarcastically. He looked at the jury for a long time before continuing. "So, let me bring our attention to the Miss Daae. How do you feel towards her?"

Could he put it into words? Could her ever explain why he was tormented by her very presence at the Opera, why he had been driven to insanity by his love. No. He could never.

"…I love her."

"So it seems. But in your _dedication_ to her, you killed innocent people just so she could be on stage, you killed hundreds just so you could have her for yourself, you threaten the life of another so she would stay….Monsieur…do you claim that this is an act of innocent love?"

Not even lying alone in his cell could he think of an answer. He shifted uncomfortable on the hard mattress, his hands cupping over his mouth. His eyes closed.

For the first time in his life…he felt a strange feeling of heaviness, and a desire to turn back time. Maybe this is what they called guilt. He supposed that's why the jury's decision had been inevitable.

Guilty.

His heart had sunk. Not as his own fate, but at the utter despair in Christine, as she had sat weeping into her friends shoulder. How she had looked at him desperately as he was dragged away.

The new moon shone brightly through the small window on the opposite side to his bed, casting dark shadows in the corners of his cell, which strangely made him feel a little comforted. In his mind, he revisited that sunny moment, when he had found himself awake in that wonderful, blissful state, with his angel lying peacefully next to him. That moment was what he had lived for. As long as Christine was safe from now on…it hardly mattered if he was gone. Most of him felt he deserved to go.

"I can't let you die."

Erik's eyes snapped open and he stood up to see Christine stood by the bars. He reached his arms through to caress her wet cheeks, and entwine his fingers in her curls. She had a look of terror in her eyes, not silent acceptance that had been there a few days ago. She clung to his arms, squeezing his shirt desperately.

"Christine…Christine!"

She began hyperventilating, tears streaming down her face, and high pitched gasps escaping her lips. He steadied his strokes on her arms to keep her calm, yet she began sobbing and muttering incomprehensibly.

"Christine…what is it?"

"What is it! Wh…Erik…this cant be happening! I…"

He frowned, and silently cursed the bars in-between them, and the hovering guards that were looking over at Christine's hysterical state.

"Shh…I'm sorry…I'm sorry you have to go through this my love…"

But she pulled away from his close embrace, shaking her head, and looking around. She bit her lip in pain and sorrow, before looking at him deeply.

"No…no, Erik…there's something…I have to…"

She steadied herself against the bars, as her legs could give out at any moment. She felt sick and was on the verge of collapsing. Erik was holding her as most support.

"Christine…what?"

She swallowed a few times before holding his arms tightly and pulling herself closer to him. He felt a strange wave of fear stab in the heart, the same fear he saw reflected in Christine's eyes.

"Erik…I…I'm pregnant."


	29. Last Requests

For almost 5 minutes, he just stared. His mouth was parted, and he never blinked, just in case the nightmare would get worse if he took his eyes away for one second.

His features gave away everything. Shock and terror. He held Christine's face with trembling fingers, studying her every tear, her every sob, for a different answer to this horrible conclusion.

If fate had decided not to twist their lives, he would have been a father. He would have been what he had wished for his whole pathetic life. To be normal. To be a man, with a wife and a family. He would have had a son or daughter to raise with his beautiful wife, and lived a life of peace and solitude.

"Stay with Madame Giry. She won't leave you, she will look after you. You won't be alone."

He spoke so calmly it was spine chilling. He even ignored Christine's furious head shakes, trying to keep her head still and focus her eyes on his.

"You won't be alo…Christine! Listen to me!"

But Christine had started screaming hysterically at him, and strangely, it scared him. He had seem the scared Christine, happy Christine, upset Christine, but never this. This time, she had tipped the boundary into sheer hysteria. Most of her words failed to sound like what she meant, and she dug her nails into his arms painfully, causing him to wince.

"NO! NO! NO! YOU HAVE TO BE WITH ME! ERIK, PLEASE, DON'T LEAVE ME! I CANT GO ALONE…ILL DIE FIRST!"

The police guards had heard her screams and ran over to the cell, dragging her back from Erik and began pulling her down the corridor.

Christine continued to yell, and struggled furiously against their grip. Surprisingly they had to use their full strength to keep her from breaking loose. The literally carried the mad Christine away.

Erik could only look on in horror.

"..Christine…"

He felt extreme guilt. Guilt that he had ever put himself in this situation. Guilt that he had put Christine into that state. He felt sick. He clutched a hand to his stomach and chest in agony, trying to let his lack of oxygen pass by letting his legs fall from under him. His breath was ragged and painful, and his head swam brutally. He brought his hands up to his face, where hot tears had begun to drench his scarred face.

"…I'm sorry." He whispered between his fingers.

--

Meg Giry shuffled into her mother's room gingerly. Her eyes where heavy with dark circles, and she rubbed them tiredly. Her mother sat at her dressing table, her chin resting in the palm of her hands. She was looking sadly into the mirror, and seeing the reflection of her daughter behind her, turned slowly and gave her a tired smile.

Meg smiled back, but the frustrated frown remained. She walked over to her mother's side and sat in front of her on the soft carpet. Madame Giry stroked Meg's head fondly, waiting patiently for her daughters worries.

"She can't sleep…she refuses to eat…I can't get a word out of her, mother, its…it's hopeless!"

Madame Giry shook her head and shushed her daughter softly.

"Now, now…it's ok. We will get through this."

"We might, Mama, but I'm beginning to doubt Christine will."

Madame Giry disagreed, but in the deep depths of her mind, she was beginning to feel that herself. The 2 women had taken up looking after Christine in their small town house in Paris, yet had been unable to get her to do anything. She lay in her makeshift bedroom in a nightmarish trace.

Her eyes were dark and her skin was dull, the usual life and youth that radiated from her had all but disappeared. Christine did nothing but stare into space all day and night, not even tears could be seen anymore. It seemed her entire soul had left her body, and she had become nothing but a lifeless shell.

Madame Giry felt sick at the thought of Christine falling deeper and deeper into her dark world. She had tried pleading with her, helping her to drink, and unsuccessfully trying to help her eat. Christine had once had a healthy, slim figure, and had now shrunk into a sickly thin, very dangerously unhealthy form.

The only words Christine uttered every day were the most reluctant subject Meg and Madame Giry had wanted to talk about it.

--

"Meg…what's the date…" Christine whispered and clung limply to her friend's hand. Meg looked helplessly at Christine, pushing her knotted hair from her tired face.

"Christine, it doesn't matt…"

"Meg!" Christine tried to sit up and look sincere, but she slipped back onto her pillow in distress. "...please…I want to know…please Meg!"

Meg sighed, and looked away from her friend's pleading eyes.

"It's the 17th."

Christine face fell, and looked on the verge of tears. She let go of Meg's hand and turned away on her bed. She pulled the covers over her shoulders, and ignored Meg's final attempts talk to her. Meg stood up, and gave one final look to the weak figure of Christine, before turning out of the small bedroom in despair.

Meg wandered to her mother's room, horrible thoughts creeping into her mind with every worry about Christine. Meg knew why she enquired the date every day. She waited for that dark day, the day when Christine's heart would finally die along with her already doomed soul.

The day of the execution. The 18th. Tomorrow.

Before opening the door to her mother's bedroom, she wiped a tear aggressively from her cheek.

--

_The next day_

The sun was contradicting the mood of the day. The hopeful ray of light broke through the darkness of the cell, showing up dancing particles that sombrely fell through the deafening silence.

Erik sat with his hands folded calmly in his lap. His eyes were closed, and his head was resting lightly against the cool stone wall behind him. Through his slightly parted lips, one would have not heard the songs that past so freely through his head and heart, his last comfort. His creative soul had yet to be extinguished, and it was the one thing that he had desperately kept alive, the only thing that had kept him alive in his days at the Opera.

But now there was one, or even, two other things that had her had reason to consider his fate. But now, what was he to do? There seemed little hope, every scheme, every plan for escape seemed more and more obscure and none seemed capable of accomplishing.

Still, there was always that _little_ hope.

The bars to the cluster of doomed cells opened, and the noise jerked Erik from his dream like state. He sat upright, and waited calmly for his judgement.

This is it.

An escort arrived at the front of his cell, and bowed half heartedly. Erik stood and walked slowly to the bars. The man gave the obvious look of disgust at Erik's naked face, and Erik struggled with the temptation to cover his scars. The tall man chuckled cruelly, and rapped the bars, as if calling Erik to his attention.

"You! I have come to escort you…but firstly, not like you deserve it, you murderous rat! Do you have any outstanding last requests?"

Erik stood silent for a moment, his head hung and looking to the floor. Letting him go, would be one request. He thought of plenty of other requests, all he knew this man could not perform. No matter how much his heart was torn, he did not want to see Christine on this last day. He wanted to remember her in her happy days, not her times of pain, although their had been more than their fair share of them. No, he had asked her not to be there. A least he could die in dignity, without being broken by her presence.

His dignity…

"Yes, Monsieur, there is something you could do for me."

The man avoided looking directly at Erik, avoiding the grotesque side of his face. Still, the man sneered, and looked down his nose at him. Erik stared back in a deathly stare, with the stare of a man with nothing to loose. He saw the escort, although matching him in height and stature, winced under Erik's gaze. His face twisted in hatred and slight fear.

"…Bring me my mask, monsieur. My only request."


	30. The Final Curtain

**Notes: Eek! Sorry Juliana! Lol, I'm sorry, Ill proof read. I wasn't the best English student. :) I'm sorry you guys, but this is it! I didn't promise you a happy ending, and I still won't. Don't cry too much! Nad xxx**

"Mother…are you ready?"

Meg stepped into the parlour where her mother had entered to tie her black bonnet in the long mirror. As she came into view of her, the older lady wiped her face quickly, as if ridding herself of any evidence of tears. Meg sighed and moved over to her, holding her hand comfortingly. Madame Giry's eyes were clearly red rimmed; proving her sadness, although she had tried to tried to hide it.

Meg had not wept for anyone apart from Christine. She was broken hearted to see her friend waste away every day like a dying rose. As for Erik, she had felt no sympathy for his fate. But if his safety confirmed Christine's happiness, then she would have done anything to help him keep in hiding. But now, she could do little. Not only did she feel terrible guilty that she had aided in his capture, but she also felt she had betrayed Christine.

Once again, the hot tears welled in her eyes, as did her mother on seeing her daughters sadness. The held each other for a few moments, contemplating and understanding each others distress.

Madame Giry was the first to straighten up.

"Now, come, ma petite fleur. No more tears, there is nothing we can do now…It's time."

The two women straightened their dreary black clothing for the occasion, and made for the front door. In the hallway, they stopped, with shocked expressions complimenting each other.

Christine stood at the door, dressed in her best dress, an outdoor cloak and a bonnet. Her face was pinched and pale, yet a lot more full of life than what had been for the past few days. She looked defiantly at the 2 women.

"Christine…where are you going?" Meg spluttered. Stupid question really. They both knew exactly were she was going.

Christine took a deep shuddering breath, wavering slightly on her weak legs that barely supported her. Madame Giry and Meg both flinched towards her, holding out their arms to hold her. But Christine stood up straight again.

"Don't try and stop me from going…" She spoke, in an unusual croaky voice, cracked and unfamiliar to that of the young soprano. "I'm going, with your company or not."

Madame Giry and Meg gave each other grave glances. Madame Giry held Christine's arm gently, and stroked the girl's cheek.

"This is not a good idea, ma Cherie. You know this."

Christine did not respond apart from staring into Madame Giry's eyes, her lip slightly trembling and her head furrowed into a deep frown. Madame Giry saw such sadness in the girl's eyes, and a last strength of determination, she could not refuse her. She tightened her grip on her arm, and took some of her support from her weak stature. Meg quickly responded in supporting the other arm, and holding the cold hand in comfort.

---

The glare of the sun would match that of the experienced sun of Persia, gleaming down on the crowds that had gathered in the grounds of the Parisian Prison. The crowd was tense and hushed, even the journalists that stood waiting tensely with their large cameras on stands, surrounding the raised platform that grimly stood in the centre of the large square. The crowd consisted mainly of the wealthy that had attended the Opera and the members of the Opera Populaire, who wanted to see their terrorist sent to his death.

Unlike French tradition, there was no guillotine on the stand. Ironically and probably planned before hand for this 'particular' execution, there was a noose.

It hung lifelessly, like its promise to its visitors. The grim knot of rope was to seal the fate of the man who had used the very same as a partner in his dark deeds.

Madame Giry had not taken them into the crowds. They stood one of the private boxes that surrounded the square plaza, which was, until a few years before, purchased by some to witness the gruesome executions, usually victims who wanted justice. The boxes were just far enough for details of an execution to be lost on an unwilling witness.

A sickening, icy feeling came into Christine, as she felt it was like watching a stage production from one of the private boxes of the Opera house. How many times had Erik watched her from his box in the Opera House, watching her perform from a child to her last days there? Now, it was her turn, and it would be the final performance. Christine hopelessly wished that this all was a performance, a production where the curtain would come down, and the roaring approval from the crowds would be directed to the lead actor, who would get up from his make believe death stance, and bow professionally to them, smiling slightly at his good work.

Life is not a stage. Some things are far too real. This pain Christine felt was all to real to be a make believe act of some foreign play, which she had had little time to rehearse for. No, this was real. Watching Erik being pushed out of the main doors into the glare of sunshine was real.

Was it an act? Christine whimpered as the man she loved fell to his knees as they pushed him cruelly through the makeshift path through the taunting crowds, who were now screaming abuse and jeering in the criminal's direction. He stood up, and glanced around, as if dazed.

Christine felt her heart ebb away, as the once proud man she had known lost all identity, and was half dragged undignified to the deadly platform. She saw the dark, black mask that he had brought from Persia sit across his face, obviously a request of his to die in his former life, behind a mask.

As his crimes were being read out, a list which brought the penalty, he was dragged upright on the platform, and shoved onto the trapdoor, were once again, his legs seemed to give way. He was obviously in a deep state of distress, putting his hands to his face, and trying to back away with his bound hands as the police guards grabbed him once more to fore him to stand upright. Some of the rougher parts of the crowd began to throw dirt and rocks at the platform, as if egging on the execution, unwilling to wait anymore for their sick pleasure of watching the man hang.

Christine had both hands over her mouth, breathing heavy into them and gasping every so often. Tears soaked her face, hands and arms, as she boldly stood watching the final undignified moments of her lover's life.

The rope finally came over the Erik's head, and was secured around his neck. Even from her far position from him, Christine could see that he was shaking. In all her last remaining fragments of her heart, she dearly wished she could have held him one last time, to comfort her dying lover and to promise…to promise she would see him once again.

But all too soon had the crowd fallen into a deathly silence…

The journalists had lowered their cameras unceremoniously to witness a part of grim history. The police guards backed away, and the executioner moved to the unlocking lever of the trap door…

Erik lowered his head, in a final acceptance of his fate.

The executioner put his hand on the lever.

Christine, although her body shuddered in desire, refused to close her eyes.

_I love you, my angel._

The crowd held their breath.

……………………………………………..

The trapdoor swung open, and the Phantom fell.

Christine, in her last moments of consciousness had heard the crowd's cheer of approval, and the furious clicking of the photographer's cameras. She heard the terrible scream of Meg before she buried her face into her mothers shoulder. Then, there was nothing but darkness.

Erik was cut down from the noose, and carried away in a body bag and stretcher. The cheer of the crowds could be heard for miles around, with the happy ideal that would defiantly be echoing in the newspapers that next morning:

**THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA:**

**THE FINAL CURTAIN**

The masked terrorist of the Opera Populaire is dead.

**Note: OMG, guys I'm so sorry I had to put you through that! I cried myself, I love Erik, I really do, but I bet you all hate me now. Well, please don't give up on me yet. The story is not finished! Please, please read on, you may like it…even though you all want your beloved Erik…sigh. I love you lot though, those who have left reviews, your all so brilliant and have defiantly helped me to carry on writing this story. **

**Nad xxx**


	31. Propositions

**Note: Crickey, I guess you are really mad at me! I feel like I murdered someone myself:( Hehehe, never mind, I'm sure you've all got over it by now…no? Oh damn, well, keep reading xxx oh, reminder to Haunts: Don't read my morbid stories ;)**

**- --**

The Opera Populaire seemed to agree with the emotions of its old ballet mistress. Its sorrowful exterior was only a small window to the devastated heart. The winds that past through the hollow entrance were Madame Giry stood whispered memories to her. She could almost hear the buzz of the gala night, full of merriment and laugher. On the staircase, she could see a little dancer giggling and twirling at the top, then as she descended, grew into a graceful ballerina, just the way she had watched them after all those years.

The old Opera house was lonely, grieving the warmth of the hundreds of people who she nurtured and brought to life on her stage. The man who had stripped her of her former glory had gone, but it did little for comfort. Erik had left his mental scars on her beauty, the same way his scars had destroyed his.

Madame Giry sighed, running a hand over the broken statues that had once sat proudly at the base of the staircase. This was, and always would be her home. Even if she could no longer live there, her heart remained.

"Jusqu' à ma visite prochaine, ma copain." Her voice echoed softly as she bid a brief farewell, and her footsteps followed suit, becoming more and more distant, leaving the Opera alone once more. Now she would know how her former masked captive felt.

--

A few sunny and dull days had gone by, each as mundane and empty as the last. Nothing could have filled the deep void of silence in those days in the small house were the Giry family lived. No words of comfort would have been of any significance any more, and so no one scarcely said a thing. Leaving the house was the only way to relieving the stress that had mounted up, but it hardly healed any scars.

Madame Giry had found a comfort in her old home, and would always pass through on her way to somewhere, or make it a special trip. Sometimes she would find an ex ballet dancer or a musician coming to pay their respects. This time however, she had been alone.

She had been passing through; the visit was not her priority. It had been a detour from a more important journey that day. A letter had come through their door a few days earlier, detailing how Madame Giry's name had come up during a search for a new Ballet Mistress at an Opera House in England. It had been a formal invite to a public meeting, so she had decided to go and find out more.

She arrived at a very smart restaurant in one of Paris's most distinguished areas, where the waiter asked for her name and bowed her entrance into its lavish interior. She removed her hat on entering, and she was shown to a far table, where a man and a woman sat expectantly.

The stood up to greet her, shaking hands politely and speaking in French. They invited Madame Giry to sit while ordering her a drink.

"We're so glad you came, Ms. Giry, it's an honour to be sure." The lady spoke. She had introduced herself as Ms. Henley. She was around Madame Giry's age, with dark hair pulled back from a rounded face, with streaks of grey gracing her maturity. She spoke pleasantly, and Madame Giry warmed to her.

"We witnessed many of the Opera Populaire's great triumphs, and we were grieved to hear of the tragedy."

"A tragedy to be sure, yes." Said the very tall man, who's accent was strange against his French, certainly not English. His shock of dark red hair made it clear, and his name, Master McAllen, that the man was of Scottish origin. "Our deepest sympathy, Madame."

"Thank you. But we must move on in life, these thing's do happen." Madame Giry tried to lighten the mood, which instantly brightened the 2 people into their proposition.

"Well Madame, as you know, we are from the Royal Opera House in London, I as manager," The man placed a hand to his chest, then to the plump Ms. Henley. ", and Ms. Henley, our Head of Voice and Opera."

"We have been in search for the past month for a new Ballet Mistress as our old Mistress Kingsley sadly past away. We have been in discussion and your name constantly keeps coming up. We had hoped you might consider a position at our Opera House."

The two looked on hopefully at Madame Giry, who as always, gave nothing away by expression. She nodded thoughtfully, and began to ask a whole string of questions about their Opera House. She had been numerous amounts of times, and had even known the late ballet mistress. The Manager explained her financial questions and her living quarters, which of course would be in the Opera House, and there would be exceptions for Meg and Christine, if they chose to come. The Head of Opera explained all the practical side, like how big a group she would be in charge of, how many people live at the Opera and so on.

A great opportunity and, maybe, a brand new start for all of them. Meg could continue her training at the London Ballet corps, were as so could Christine, or, if fate allowed it, her singing. Madame Giry was going to consider this very deeply. On walking back home from meeting the two, she had pondered it a great deal, and had really made up her mind before entering her temporary home. All she would need was the consent of her two daughters.

When she entered through the door, she set her outdoor coat on the rail and her hat. She walked through the hall and into the living quarters where her daughter Meg sat sketching. She looked up and gave her mother a weary smile, and kissed her as Madame Giry bent her head.

"Good day, mother?" She chirruped.

"Oui, very interesting actually." She sat down in her favourite chair next to the window. "I met up with two very important members of the Royal Opera House in England this afternoon, it seems they are looking for a new ballet mistress."

Meg put her pad down and sat up, her eyes wide with excitement. She looked over at her mother, waiting for a continuation. Madame Giry smiled slightly. She knew her daughter would be intrigued, and would have loved to live in England.

"Well, they appear to have heard of my reputation from our own Opera House, and would like me to join the Opera House in London!"

At this point, Meg squealed in delight and cupped a hand over her mouth; scared just in case this was false hoping. Maybe her mother had turned the offer down?

"I have not given them an answer, but I said I was greatly interested. I wanted your consent before I said…"

"YES! Oh my goodness, yes! Would I have a place there?"

"It would seem so, yes, ma petite ange."

"Oh my! This will be wonderful! You have to accept, Mamon, it's an amazing opportunity. The Royal Opera in _London!_ It's so brilliant!"

Madame Giry had to contain her laugher at her daughter's excitement. She knew her daughter would approve. She wasn't the one she was hoping for consent from…

Madame Giry stood up to get the mail from the table were Meg had left it.

"Maybe you should go and talk to Christine about it." Madame Giry said in a more sombre tone. Meg nodded, her face saddening slightly. Christine had become non existent in her presence, and talking to her would have meant nothing. She had come out over the last two days, which was progress, but she kept her talking to a minimum. Her weight was beginning to come back though, which they had all been terribly relieved about.

As Meg had left the room, Madame Giry opened the mail. There had been one from Nasih, thanking Madame Giry in aiding him with his expenses for his work and sending him off home. Madame Giry smiled slightly. She was glad the man was now rightfully with his family. He had also enclosed a letter for Christine, which Madame Giry had left un-open, as it was Christine's personal letter. There was little else of importance, except the newspaper, which Madame Giry had avoided reading the past weeks, unwilling to be reminded of that horrific day.

She took the letter through to Christine, who was sitting up in her bed, drinking a hot mug of tea, while Meg sat on her bed, talking rapidly and high pitched about all the things they could do in London. Madame Giry even thought she saw a smile twitching in the corners of the young woman's mouth.

"Christine, a letter for you from Nasih."

Christine took the letter while Meg carried on talking excitedly, and began to open it. Madame Giry retired back to the living area, picking up the newspaper and settling down in her chair.

She straightened up the creases dutifully, and spread the front page on her lap.

Even before ending the large bold heading, her heart had frozen.

There had been a large crash and a horrified scream from the room she had just left, and she sat upright, her heart pounding in her mouth. She gripped the newspaper once again before bolting to the other room, skimming over the summary of the article quickly, just to make sure she hadn't been making things up in her own mind.

Quickly discarding it, she ran into the other room, where Meg was desperately trying to wipe the boiling hot tea from Christine's lap. Christine however, was oblivious to the hot water seeping through her clothes and onto her bare skin.

She bore holes into the letter, which she was holding with a trembling hand. Her eyes were wide with fright and confusion, and her eyes scanned the page religiously, just like Madame Giry had done with the newspaper. Christine began to whimper, and her breaths became high pitch and audible.

Whatever Christine had read in the letter, had had the same effect on Madame Giry, who was gasping for breath, with tears forming in her eyes as she took the letter from Christine to read for herself.


	32. The Unexpected

**MYSTERIOUS HANGING: VANISHING ACT**

**On the 18th June, justice was to be carried out the infamous Erik Brigaki Djilia, or better known as the infamous masked terrorist of the late Opera House, the Opera Populaire. Hundreds gathered in the grounds of the Parisian Jail to be witness to the execution of the murderer. However, in a mysterious and extraordinary turn of events, the masked magician has once more slipped through the hands of justice. On taking the body away after hanging, it was discovered that the man hanged was not that of the disfigured form which had been known of the accused. Rather, it was discovered the man executed was a guard at the Parisian jail, Jean Paul Conduer, hidden behind the mask. Regrettably, we have no indication as to Condeur had not spoken against this switch of identities, as it seems very unlikely the man would have voluntarily taken his place as a favour. **

**Article continues on Page 4.**

**- -----------**

My Love,

This must come as a shock, but I am alive. I cannot explain to you through letters, as even disguising my letter as one from Nasih's could have easily been discovered. I dare not risk putting you in any more danger. But my dear Christine, I cannot meet with you as of yet, as it is too risky for both of us. I must keep low for a while, you must understand, but I promise I won't be too far.

I am so sorry you had to go through this, my angel, I truly am. But in knowing I am safe, I hope you will not come into anymore grief.

All my heart and soul,

O.G.

**Note: I will be expecting apologies from all you who threw rocks at me ;) oh and well done to those who guessed. You didnt think I was that bad, did you?**


	33. Questions and Letters

**Note: Awww you all made me laugh, I can make you hate me, and then love me! Wow, power! Lol. I think this story is not even close to finishing, which I hope is ok with you, because I don't know whether your expecting a closure soon, maybe your getting bored with me / Please tell me, because I do have quite good ideas for the continuation of it. Nad xxx **

**- ----**

He's alive.

Alive.

Was this someone's sick joke? Would someone be as cruel as to write such a life bringing letter to her in false hope? It couldn't be. Nasih wouldn't have put some random letter in his, only if he knew them. Nasih was an honest and kind man. He would never do such a thing.

So it's true! He is alive. Christine could even recognise the beautiful handwriting, even though it had clearly been rushed. She had seen the newspaper article through tear filled eyes after Madame Giry had read the letter and ran to show her the paper.

The three women sat in frustrating silence for a long time, looking at each other in shock and uncertainty. Meg was the first to break the silence.

"…How did he manage to escape? There must have been…"

"That doesn't matter." Madame Giry cut in. Her response had been dismissive, a way of telling Meg this was not the topic to be talking about right now. "All that matters, is he is alive and safe."

She took hold of Christine's hand, who was still shaking. She looked up at Madame Giry, the life and flushed youth could be seen rushing back into her once lifeless face. It was a strange joy to see.

"I have to find him." She began shifting from the bed, but Madame Giry held her arm.

"No! No, you can't, ma cher, you will put each other in considerable danger!"

Christine stopped and hung her head.

"But he is in danger! Where will he go, the whole of Paris is on the lookout for him!"

The helpless frustration caused her to sit down angrily on the bed once more. Meg put an arm over her shoulder.

"Of all people, Christine, you should know he is a master in concealment. He will be fine, I promise you. And, listen to me, both of you,"

She stood in front of the two girls sternly, placing her hands on her waist, and looking hard down at them.

"I will have no more talk of this from now on. No doubt we will have the police round, asking a million questions, knowing that we probably have some information as to where he is. As a matter of fact…Meg, burn that letter."

"No! I want to keep it!" Christine made a grab for it, but Madame Giry pulled it back.

"Don't be so selfish! If it's found and traced, he could be hanged, no question next time! Do you want that, Christine?"

Christine looked abashed, shaking her head at the floor.

"Right, then Meg, burn it."

Meg took the letter from her mother, and put the corner over a candle. As it began to flare, she tossed it on the empty hearth in the bedroom. They all watched it fall apart slowly, each piece disappearing into black ash. Madame Giry let out an audible sigh, turning to them once more.

"We know nothing. Only of what has been said in the paper. Christine, not a word about _your _situation."

She let her eyes flit towards the young woman's stomach, were the lump had not appeared yet, thankfully not giving anything away of the pregnancy. It would have been folly to mention it, as a motive such as that would certainly make Erik return to her. She would be guarded constantly.

And as if on cue, a loud tapping on the door sounded. Meg jumped slightly, and Christine looked fearful. Only Madame Giry kept composed, straightening her dress and giving a last warning look to the two girls. She moved to the door, and unlocked it.

Three men stood stiffly, waving police badges in front of Madame Giry's face. Still she didn't move to let them enter, blocking the door with her arm. The closest man, dressed in a long coat, covered at the neck by a large bushy beard. He took of his hat in respect and looked gravely at the lady.

"Bonjour Madame, Quai des Orfèvres Senior Détective Marcelle and my co-workers, Detective Gaulleire and Detective Rever. I expect you know why we're here."

Madame Giry raised her eyebrows, authority radiating from her presence. She seemed to size the men up, as if deciding whether they were worthy of entering her house.

"It would seem I do, Monsieur. Please…come in."

She moved back almost reluctantly, letting the men pass through the narrow door way. She sternly instructed them to wipe their feet before letting them into the living area. Meg was called to prepare coffee and tea for the detectives.

"So, monsieur's, you see it fit to question me about the disappearance?"

A short, very large man with a very red complexion wheezed as he spoke. He had been introduced as Monsieur Rever.

"Oui, Madame, but not just yourself. We request the presence of a Miss Daae also. We have reason to believe she is living here, am I correct?"

"Yes, but I will allow no questioning of her in solitude. She has been very traumatized by the whole experience, and I do not wish her to be alone with you."

The three men had a silent meeting, glancing at each other for an agreement. They nodded slowly, and Monsieur Rever continued.

"So be it. Please, if she would?"

When Meg had returned with the tea for her mother and the coffee for the gentlemen, she went to escort the frail Christine into the living room. Christine looked a lot worse in the natural light of the room, her pale skin dull and drawn. The men looked sympathetically at her as Meg helped her sit in the chair near Madame Giry.

"Mademoiselle, thank you for your time." Detective Marcelle bowed his head to her after sitting down from his polite raise to Christine on entering. Christine smiled slightly, but closed her eyes in reaction to the light coming through the window.

"Right then, now we would like to ask you both about your presence at the so called 'execution', and anything else prior to this."

Monsieur Gaulleire, the man who had not spoken yet, took his cue. He was quite a young looking man, quite handsome man in fact. His mouth would twitch slightly into a smile when he would see Meg looking at him, much to her mother's disapproval.

"Firstly, Madame, we would like to ask you if you noticed anything suspicious when you were at the execution."

"We were allocated one of the witness boxes around the square. We were too far away to see if we recognized any apparent lack of identity."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. And prior to the execution, did you know of any…plans to escape from jail?"

"Certainly not, Monsieur! We know the law, acquaintances or not, we would have reported anything."

Monsieur Rever sniffed, and turned his view to Christine.

"Acquaintances, indeed. But we know the accused would have had reason to escape, would he not? Not just for his own neck, if I were to venture a guess."

Christine raised her head to look at the balding, overweight man, who was eyeing her suspiciously. She took on a look of tired shock.

"I knew of no further motive as to his escape apart from avoiding death! Certainly he would have taken the opportunity of escaping if it had arisen, Monsieur, as would we all."

The men nodded understandingly, ignorant to the protective way Christine sheltered her stomach with her hand.

The questioning progressed into trying to riddle out a trip up, maybe finding a hint that the women knew something about his were-about. But Madame Giry had it well hidden, even taking on an adoptive false hatred of Erik, coaxing Christine to do so. Christine played along, pretending she had not been in Erik's favor in his last moments, her sudden ambiguous outburst at the cells a few days before his death confirming that. To them it could have been a burst of outrage towards him, welcoming his death sentence.

No matter what, they seemed pretty convinced over their story, were even if he was alive, they would want nothing to do with him.

The three police detectives bowed out of the door, shaking hands with Madame Giry, and the Detective Gaulleire, placing a soft kiss on Meg's hand, making her blush terribly.

"That does not mean we are out of the wood yet." Madame Giry frowned as they returned to the living room. "We will be watched, certainly for a few weeks. We have nothing to worry about though, as we didn't lie. We don't know where Erik is, and therefore we cant get him found. We all must keep low and remain here for a while."

"What about England!" Meg whined, complimenting her crestfallen expression.

"England will have to wait, ma cher. But don't worry," She kissed the top of Meg's head. "I will inform them that I accept their offer."

This seemed to cheer Meg up, as she leaped up happily to help Christine return to the back bedroom.

---

When Christine had been left alone, she sighed heavily and threw herself onto the bed. Her mind was a blur of emotions, such a horrible mix that any other inexperienced person would have drowned by now. She felt almost sorry for herself that she was now used to feeling such distress.

She was in total bliss in knowing Erik was alive, yet the sickening worry for his safety had taken the place of the terrible feeling of loss.

What to do? She was so stressed that she couldn't really _do _anything. Actually, for a while she felt energetic, a huge change from her usual lethargic state. She paced around her room for a while, thoughts all of Erik swimming freely through her mind.

Soon, her mind came back to her present state.

She had hardly had time to take in her pregnancy, and now she had time to think about it, she became a little scared. She was only a child herself, not even twenty. And to bring a child up without a present father? What would she explain to it? That its father was on the run, charge with the murder of hundreds of people?

One thing she did worry about was her abuse of her body in the recent month. She suddenly became extremely guilty, as she could have damaged her babies growth in her womb with lack of nutrition.

Christine moved instinctively to the tea tray, were some supper was sitting there for her. She ate some, and surprisingly to herself felt a lot better. Soon she had eaten all of it, and she picked up the tray to take back to the kitchen.

The sun was going down at this point, and from the kitchens window, the light lit up the room beautifully. Christine breathed in the pleasant cool atmosphere of the kitchen, with its beautiful smells from the makings of supper. A tiny breeze was coming from the window, and she moved over to it, feeling a little soothed.

It wasn't till she had reached the window, did she felt anything but relaxed. On looking at the window sill, she saw a yellow tinged parchment lying there innocently. Yet her heart leaped up into her mouth, as she snatched the folded paper quickly and leaned out of the window, scanning the darkening street desperately. But there was no one about. She could hear the distant racket of children playing in a house further up the street, yet no one walking or more preferably, hiding in the shadows.

With trembling hands, she turned the paper over to read A.O.M. What did that mean?

As quickly as she had fretted, it dawned on her.

Angel of Music.

Erik.

She scrambled with the paper to unfold it and quickly read its message.

_You have come here, hardly knowing the reason why. Tonight you succumb to me. _

_O.G._

The message rang out loud and clear to her, as did his lyrics from his opera, Don Juan. She remembered how they had sung to each other, he oblivious to the audience and her forgetful of the plan. They had been totally engrossed in each other, finally falling into the point, the point where they couldn't not return.

But she would return. She would return to her former home, to that place where she had succumbed to him. Tonight, they would be re-united at the very place they had began this performance of hate, betrayal, passion, jealousy and love.

**Note; Not a terribly exciting chapter, but it will get better. I wrote this with a damn house alarm going off in my street, and it so annoying! Anyway, don't forget to review, cause I adore getting them, you lot are so great, im surprised I can fit my head through my door lol! Unless you all forgot which story your reading and your praising the wrong one, eek! xxxxxx**


	34. Acts of Selfishness

**Note: I'm sorry I am not very good with grammar; I just get carried away writing the story and typing so fast to keep up with my brain that I hardly notice! But daft penguin: I have never read or seen that plot twist before on fanfic or in any film, but even if it has been used before, I wrote it in ignorance. Xxx omg, yay! A hundred reviews!**

**- ---**

Christine had waited for the light to completely fade until she decided to make a move. She listened for Madame Giry and Meg when they retired to their rooms upstairs. Slowly and quietly, she opened her bedroom door and inched through. She took her outdoor coat of the rail and slung the hood over her head.

Her legs still felt weak, and they shook slightly as she took each step. But, her determination was greater than her setbacks, and she opened the front door gently, and closed it behind her.

Now that she was outside, she felt a little braver. The dark streets were lit with streetlamps, casting an orange glow around them, yet creating eerie shadows in the alleys around the street. Christine pulled her coat around her protectively, and cast a long look around her, making sure no one was about. She slipped into the shadows, blending in with the dark colour of her clothes. When she was onto the main streets, she would try to find a passing carriage.

Christine doubled back on herself a few times, just in case she was being followed, and sometimes made sharp turns as a short or long detour, getting lost to anyone in the sometimes very narrow streets. Her footsteps were quick and almost at a jog, her heart pounding at every noise she heard. Walking the streets like his after dark was not safe, and she knew it. The sooner she could find a carriage, the better.

But a carriage seemed out of the question, as there was none about, or they were occupied by late night lovers. She supposed the Opera house was not that far away no anyway, and she quickened her pace.

About 15 minutes later, the street opened out into an open plan, where the buildings surrounded a square in the centre, and its overlord stood overlooking, once a proud majestic building, and now eaten out from the core. It both pained and excited Christine to see her former home once again. She had forgotten how much she had missed it.

Christine quickly slipped into the building, climbing through some wooden panels that had clumsily been bordering the side doors. The corridor preceding the main entrance didn't seem that badly affected, even in the lack of light, Christine could still see the fine works of art still crowning the walls and the beautiful ceiling, highly decorated in grandeur. Maybe it hadn't been as damaged as she thought.

But entering the main foyer, where the large staircase swooped down to greet her, she felt her heart turn as dark as the charcoaled statues and roof. There was debris littered all over the steps, making it impossible to reach the upper levels, by these stairs in any case. Still, she wasn't trying to reach the upper levels…

She took the descending staircase to her left, which swung out into a million different corridors. Yet she knowingly tiptoed through the rooms and hallways that would lead her to the main auditorium.

Christine entered through one of the side doors, and gasped in horror. Her poor Opera House! Its heart had been completely destroyed, blackened and cut. Only a few chairs remained from the audience seating, discarded and ash covered. There was a huge gaping hole in the ceiling, were the chandelier had been dropped viciously, and plaster and beams had fallen, causing the auditorium to look like a tornado had hit it.

The stage again was black and dishevelled, with broken backdrop supports from the roof littering it, fallen curtains and rotting beams of wood. Christine chocked back a tear as she moved up the stairs next to the stage, and stood on her former platform, looking sadly out the once grand auditorium.

Christine's heart turned slightly weak as she realised how dark it actually was, and inconveniently remembered how many people had died here only a few months before. She could hear the faint flapping of wings and cooing from birds aloft, and every so often the crumbling sound of some plaster falling from the roof. She had been stood there now for over 20 minutes, and was beginning maybe she had misinterpreted the message.

Maybe he hadn't wanted her to come out? Maybe he was just reminding her he was safe without giving anything away.

Her heart leaped suddenly with a noise directly behind her from backstage. It was a quiet noise, but she had been so on edge, all her senses were tingling horribly.

She squinted in the darkness, unable to see or hear a lot. Except…

A figure stepped out of the shadows and onto the side stage, tall and heavily cloaked. It raised its head and suddenly was winded, with a large collision with its chest.

Erik held Christine tightly, who buried her head into his cloak and shirt, breathing in his masculine scent, the one that she had so nearly forgotten from spending so much time away from him. It drowned her senses, making her deaf to the mutterings of her lover.

"Oh Christine…my love…my angel."

He pushed her slightly from his chest and raised her chin with his gloved hand. He bore another mask, a white one, unlike his old one he had left in Persia. He had obviously been late to retrieve it from his old lair. He brought her up into a gentle kiss, so gentle that she would not fail in her emotions, gentle enough for her to come accustom to the fact he really was alive.

But Christine slid her tongue over his bottom lip, begging for more of the sweet sensations that had been so cruelly deprived of her. He immediately responded, parting lips and allowing her to take him into a deep embrace. She felt once again like a feather in his arms, which were strongly and protectively wrapped around her, his fingers curling into her hair, and her hands caressing his chest and good side of his face.

"Erik, you're here…It feels like a dream…I...but your alive!"

"Shhh," He coaxed, pressing his lips once more to hers to stop her jargon, which she often did when confused. But this time, after a few minutes, Christine backed away.

She didn't completely free herself from his grasp, as he kept two hands on the tops of her arms. Her expression was that of a dazed child, suddenly whisked off into a completely knew place, like a country child flung into the middle of a bustling city, without parents or friends. She looked him up and down, her eyes strangely suspicious for a few seconds, which passed as quickly as it had shown.

Erik watched her strange behaviour quietly. Obviously she was going to find the whole situation dazzling and confusing, but why was she looking at him like that?

"Erik…" She whispered, still sounding loud in the crippled auditorium. There was something in her voice, something daugnting, something Erik hated the sound of. It was the same tone his mother had used before explaining she had not wanted him to stay anymore, or the same tone Nasih had adopted to tell him of Christine's arrival, or the same tone the policeman had used to tell him he was to be killed…

"Erik…I have to ask you…"

She gave him one final look, a look which turned his heart cold. It was a look of fear.

"How did you escape?"

Erik gritted his teeth. He knew what this was about. He took a deep breath.

"You didn't read it in the papers?"

Christine was looking more and more savvy by the minute, as if finally it had hit her what he had done.

"What did you tell him?" She ignored his question.

"Tell who?"

"Tell the man who took your place to die!" She had tried to say it quietly, but it rang out clearly, and Erik flinched. Anyone standing in the Opera House's entrance would have heard it. He gave Christine a regretful look, and let go of her.

"I…I had no choice, Christine…you, I couldn't leave you."

She moved back a few paces now, the look of terror rising in her face even more clearly. She was breathing hard, and biting nails from one hand.

Then she cut Erik hard. She made his soul quiver and his heart falter, just by one look. He hated her for having so much power over him, in one snap of a finger he would come running. But there was no request for him that moment.

Her look was that of pure disgust.

"You threatened him, didn't you?"

Erik remained silent, breathing through his nose steadily and keeping his cat like eyes on Christine.

"You threatened him to take your place to give you enough time to escape…didn't you? What did you threaten him with?"

"Christine…"

"WHAT DID YOU THREATEN HIM WITH?"

He didn't flinch this time. He just kept his unblinking stare on her, waiting, ever waiting for her to bolt from that door…and out of his life. Either she would except what he had to do, or she wouldn't…even turning himself in seemed like a good idea if it was the latter. He had no choice but to tell her.

"I…I swore I would not rest till I found every last member of his family…unless I saw him die…"

Christine had placed a knowning hand over her mouth and clenched her eyes shut at the truth. Tears ran down her face and over her hand. He didn't even have to finish about what he had threatened him about his family. Erik would have had to go into a lot of gruesome detail for the man to feel completely terrified into taking his own life for them.

"What do you want?"

Christine turned to him, her eyes wide with fright and horror. She knew Erik was capable of such things, she had just forgotten how terrifying it actually was.

"W…What?"

"Do you want me dead?" His voice was so calm and quite, it unnerved her. She knew…_knew_ he would never hurt her, but still…she could see in her mind the blood on his hands from so many murders.

"No! No, I don't want you dead, I just…"

"You just what?"

He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she moved out of it quickly. He felt a stab of cold pain and rejection. After all that had happened, would this be it? Had she finally realized that he wasn't the man she loved?

"Christine…"

"Erik, DON'T!"

He had once more tried to reach out for her, but she violent knocked him back. In fury, she not only threw his arm away, but pushed him furiously away from her.

She could make Erik stumble with her physical strength, but the emotions that tore through his battered heart resurfaced once again, and his throat suddenly seemed blocked, like he couldn't breathe. He looked at her dazed and hurt, but still she returned her looks of venom.

"I thought you said you wanted to lie low! I thought meeting was a bad idea! You could…you could get hanged for sure this time!"

"Is that not what you want Christine? Cause to me, it seems you think I _should_ die for what I have done. Only out of selfishness do you want me around…yes?"

Was that it? Was that why she felt so torn? She hated what he had done, and she hated him for acting so cool about it. He had killed once again, an innocent man…how could she refuse that she didn't think he should pay? She had once before, but yet…she had regretted it.

"Mademoiselle…tell me what you want. And as always, I will act in your interest."

One again, Erik had pushed her up against the wall with only a loose both way situation. She hated him for doing it again. She felt racked with guilt for the people who suffered on her behalf, and she felt like it was her fault so many people had died. As a matter of fact, it was her fault.

And could she really love a man who had such a monstrous soul? A soul who has to kill to love?

Oh Erik, her beloved Angel! He looked so depleted, so crestfallen; she could have forgiven him and taken him back into her arms right there and then. But…her head and heart were now on a battlefield. Her head told her to leave, leave and let the man go, freeing her of the burden of others.

But her heart spoke of a love worth so much more than that. So much they had, so much shared guilt. Could they really go on without each other, and still living with guilt?

Which was the right path? To take the hand of a fallen angel and lead a life in hell, or to discard her own soul, and sacrificing it for heaven?


	35. The Beginning

**Note: Let me start by saying sorry, once again, for all you fans of this fanfic who have waited 3 wholes months for me to update. I should have said something before hand, but I went on a work placement in North Africa, so I never had time to finish this. But hey! I'm back, and so is the end of the fic. I'm tying it up with this last chapter, and I will carry it on with a sequel in due course. **

- --

At the docks, the crowds were thick, even on the blustery day it was. The people jostled and pushed, shouting over the cry of the seagulls in the bitter air. The large ships stood dormant against the unpromising skies, yet looked determinedly sturdy against the choppy waves that went on till the eye was lost to the dullness in the distance.

Christine, Meg and Madame Giry were pacing at a fair speed with Master McAllen….., who was talking rapidly and excitedly to them. Madame Giry was politely listening to him rant, were as Meg and Christine hung back slightly. The two girls held each others arm, talking quietly, out of earshot of the two in front.

Christine, now showing her pregnancy, was well wrapped in a large over coat, with a significant amount of grand layers underneath. Her face had the same healthy glow it had been when she had been at the Opera, and her weight had come back, giving her a very youthful and beautiful appearance once more. She walked with a slight smile on her face, yet once that hardly masked the sadness that the young girl had haunting her eyes.

"Ah, here we are! Le Beau Mere! A fine ship to be sure." Master McAllen waved a hand dramatically up at the ship that the women would be taking to England. Meg squealed in delight, and Christine gazed up in wonder. It was not the largest ship in the dock, but it was certainly the most luxurious looking.

Christine and Meg trotted up the gang plank, and were bowed into the beautiful white shutter doors of the ship. Madame Giry and Mr. followed behind.

It wasn't long till the girls were shown to their cabins, and had sat on their basic, yet prettily decorated beds.

"Wont it be wonderful, Christine? England! We're actually going to England! We will be able to see all the latest fashions there, and oh, the dancing! I wonder if the techniques are different. I would hope not, it would be and absolute bore to learn them all again."

Christine frowned at her. "Meg, as if I can dance in this state." She patted her tummy fondly. Meg put a hand over her mouth and giggled.

"Oh yes, sorry. But Christine, you will be singing…won't you?"

At that, Christine's face had fallen slightly, and it was too late before Meg had realized what she had said. Meg looked apologetically at her, but Christine dismissed it with a pretending of ignorance.

"I think I will take a walk on deck, care to join me?" She said, almost too light heartedly. Meg smiled, but shook her head.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to look around the ship. I heard that Costella Regillio, the Italian designer is on board!"

Christine laughed at her friend's star struck expression, and bided her farewell. She retired from her room and wandered the decks until she came to a secluded area at the back of the ship, were only a couple and a lone man were hovering around the edge of the deck.

Christine leaned on the railing, and breathed in the sea air. It cleared her head and let a beautiful breeze pass through her hair. It reminded her so much of the trip she had taken all that time ago, were she and Nasih had travelled far to reach the destination, away from France and home. Now she would be doing it all over again…

Christine shook her head instinctively, trying to rid herself of that kind of memory. A painful, if not still fresh one would not help in this situation. She needed to keep positive. And keep healthy, if not only for her baby. A bond had grown over the last month, was she began to love the unborn child unconditionally, and had sworn to herself never to abuse her body as she had done so before.

She placed a gloved hand over her 6 month old bump, feeling the baby move slightly. She smiled, feeling that warm fuzzy feeling of great fondness and love. Yes, she would cherish this child, no matter what anyone said about her.

The darkness had begun to take a hold on the grey skies and the rough sea. Night time crept in prematurely, and began to cloak the ship in shadow. The couple who had been keeping warm together retired through the doors into the parlour. Christine stood alone against the railings, still gazing out to sea, with a furrowed frown.

"Evening Mademoiselle."

Christine cocked her head slightly to the left where the voice came from. The finely and heavily dressed gentleman was stood in the corner of her eye, him too resting against the rail with her. She did not answer him.

"It's a very cold night. You should be inside."

She smiled slightly, still looking out to sea. "I am fit for any condition in these clothes. I would probably find myself at home up in the deepest North dressed like this."

The fine man chuckled, pulling his cloak a little more tightly around him.

"How are you feeling then?"

She turned, a little confused. "Feeling? I suppose I'll feel a lot better when we get to England, and away…away from…"

The man placed a hand on Christine's that rested on the rail. It was gloved in black leather, matching the rest of his clothing. His voice was comforting and deep, a voice she never really waned to stop hearing.

She looked Erik fully now, and smiled slightly. His collar and top hat hid his face in shadow, yet Christine could still see those burning eyes through the dark.

"Away from everything we know?"

She nodded. "Away from the memories. Away from all things that have become a black shadow in my mind."

Erik knew he could not hold her now. She was probably being watched by the finest of the French police, ready to find Erik and capture him once and for all.

But his and Christine's plan had not been an easy one to follow.

Christine also wished to fall into his arms once more. She sensed the beautiful dark beauty he held over her, and wished to drown in it as she had done many a time before. But this time, it was not a very sensible thing to do.

That night, that dreadful night when she had almost forgotten him still sickened her mind. She had forgotten the terrifying, yet binding love that intoxicated her, and had almost rid herself of her love. Her soul was almost once again ripped from her body, and she would have condemned them both.

- --

_A few months earlier_

…_Let you mind start a journey to a strange new world…_

What was that sweet sound that entwined with the very core of her? It ran through her blood like a hot liquid, scorching her heart and limbs as it raced through her body, sending shock waves of sheer madness through her entire soul. Her small frame quivered, her eyes closed, and her senses unconsciously begging for more.

…_leave all thoughts of the life you knew before,_

What heavenly creature could produce such an unearthly sound, and be lowed to live a life on earth among creatures so unworthy than itself?

_Let you soul take you were you long to be…_

Christine turned in a pure trance. Erik, standing in front of her, was singing.

Singing to her as he used to, in his rich, dark voice that melted around her, sending her senses to heaven. But this time, the look on his face was different. It was not the yearning or pleading face she had once seen, but a thoughtful and sadly accepting expression.

_Only then.._

… _can you belong with me._

At that moment, Erik voice slightly faltered. He choked back his last word, and his solemn expression slipped. His face turned to despair.

_No! Not again, Christine. Not after everything._

Christine's heart, body and soul screamed at her. The man in front of her began to fade away, the lake was in between them both, and no matter how hard she tried to struggle…

Erik forcefully embraced the weeping Christine, who had flown into his chest. He curled his fingers into her hair, letting tears fall into them. Christine sobbed loudly, muffled in Erik's clothes.

"God damn me, I don't care." She wept. "I don't…I love you. I love, I cannot change it. Send me to hell, but don't…don't separate us."

- --

The boat had come into dock very early hours of the morning. The mist still clung to the air, while darkness still lecherously clung onto the sky.

Christine, Meg and Madame Giry alighted onto the land once more. They had arrived in Dover, famous for its white cliffs that could not be seen in the morning mist, until you actually left the boat. Meg and Christine had both audibly gasped at the natural wonder.

They all waited for a carriage that would take them to the capital. When one arrived, the porters loaded their suitcases on the back, while they ducked inside. Christine peered out the window to see a tall gentleman tip his hat to her as he faded away in the crowds. She watched him until she could see him no more.

"I will meet you there." He had whispered to her on the boat, before kissing her hands and retiring, leaving a smiling Christine on deck.

It took a few good hours to reach the centre of London, as always the traffic into and in the centre was horrific. Megan had hung out the window for a good hour before getting bored of watching the same old markets and narrow cobbled streets and the ladies who went about their shopping.

When they arrived at the Opera House though, she squealed loudly, causing Mr. to jump out of his skin. It was true though; the London Opera house did deserve much attention, as it was a wondrous structure. Christine secretly agreed that is was not as beautiful as her old Opera house, but it was a beauty none the less. Its masculine, Romanesque feel to it certainly sat well in the beautiful Covent Gardens.

The women followed Master McAllen, who had travelled in another coach, and met them outside. He walked them up the steps to the entrance, were they were met by a large group of people.

They were introduced to the Opera mistress, Ms. Henley, who Madame Giry had met before. There were also a few senior stagehands, the music director, art director and a few more which the women had difficulty taking in all at once.

Once they had been shown around the main foyer of the Opera, and the spectacular auditorium, the women were shown to their rooms.

Meg and Christine had rooms which led on to each other, a significant change to their draftee dorms at the Opera in Paris! Madame Giry had her own room and parlour, next to the ballet training rooms.

Meg had already set off exploring with a bunch of giggling girls who had introduced themselves on arrival. They were part of the chorus as Meg and Christine had been, and around their age. They had taken Meg and Christine to their rooms, and had been very interested to know about the new arrivals.

"Oh I would have loved to go to Paris!" A skinny dark haired girl grinned. "But Father said when I'm older. He reckons I'm too young to go places yet." She pouted.

Meg was chatting away in her eloquent English about Paris and about the tragedy, skimming over the parts of the 'accident', not being intentional.

They had made a fuss over Christine too, seeing her bump and asking a lot of questions.

"Awww, when is it due?"

"Do you have any names sorted?"

"Where is its father? Joining you later?"

Christine looked at the skinny girl a moment, who had a lot of trouble keeping her mouth shut most of the time. But she smiled sadly.

"I'm afraid…I'm afraid he past away, a few months ago."

The girls looked horrified, but let their pity be known to Christine, hugging her and explaining how she would have no problems at the Opera. For once, Christine appreciated it so much, and thanked them greatly.

So while Meg was exploring, Christine took to her own exploration. She walked leisurely around, taking in her new home, greeting people on her way past. She took to looking in all the balconies, seeing the stage from all angles. The visited the foyers and the guest rooms, and all around the dancing quarters. It wasn't till she got to the lower levels of the Opera, did she hesitate.

She crept slowly in the darkness of the backstage, and listened closely for any sounds. Her exploration had not been in leisure, rather, they had been in search.

She had expected to see him by now…where had he got too? She prayed to god that he hadn't been spotted and recognised.

She almost screamed as she felt something grab her arm.

She was silenced immediately by a finger gently pressing on her lips.

"Erik…" She smiled widely at the dark figure smiling back at her in the darkness. He had made it! She felt stupid for ever doubting him in the first place. She brought herself up to him and kissed him softly. He kissed her back slowly and tenderly, letting the moment savour.

"You like it?" She asked softly, nodding her head back to indicate the Opera House. Erik smiled and shrugged.

"It's not my Opera. But I will get used to it."

Christine let a small frown appear on her forehead.

"No trouble this time, ok? Just keep quiet, don't draw attention to yourself. This is a new life for us, we need to keep you safe."

He chuckled slightly and kissed her cheek before straightening up. He stiffened and brought out something from his pocket. A white ivory mask. He positioned it carefully on his face, and took off his cloak. Christine saw once more, the man who was doomed to the shadows, who was limited only to live a life in confinement and loneliness, the man she had seen so many times before as a child, in her dreams and almost a year ago at the performance of Don Juan.

But this time, there was something different. In his eyes, she saw not despair and hatred, but life. Life was burning like fire in his eyes, and hope and happiness. This new life was not going to be like any they had known before.

"Me? Trouble?" He whispered. "I've never heard anything more ridiculous."


End file.
